Rubies of the Mountain
by browneyesonly4
Summary: Undercover fic. Not related to any NCIS episode. Semi-sequel to Israeli Wine and Pearls. Tiva. Here comes the bride?
1. Canon & Gigue

_**A/N: **__So…I was sitting here rereading _Israeli Wine and Pearls_, and I remembered that I owed you a somewhat sequel. Well, here it is. Kind of. It references _IWaP_, but it's not a complete sequel. For those of you who have read _The Time_, think of this as a semi-reward! For those of you who are strict Tiva fans, enjoy it. I know I am. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own the following: Hotel Jerome, Alfred Angelo, the Westend Bistro, the 1840s Ballroom, _Father of the Bride_, or Mossad. I only take credit where it is due: Divinity, the plot, and any characters that do not belong to CBS. No copyright infringement is intended; only much fun and happiness as time goes on and the producers _still_ refuse to relent to the Tiva Tension we know and love. _

_**Summary:**__ Gibbs assigns another undercover assignment to his agents. How will they fare?_

_**Case File:**__ In _Israeli Wine and Pearls_, Tony was told that there was a crooked preacher (Steven Kessler) in D.C. who would heavily involve himself in the marriage of his clients. Prenuptial counseling, wedding planning, and even a cameo appearance at the reception kept him well known as a kind and caring preacher in the community. He would even give the couple a suggestion as to where to honeymoon: "Stay at Hotel Jerome—gorgeous views of Aspen Mountain!" Often times, the couples would do just that. He didn't have an exclusive clientele, but took after each of his couples equally—especially, it seemed, when the military was involved. Coincidentally, two Marines and one Naval officer took their honeymoons at Hotel Jerome, and only one person out those six survived. It was Tony and Ziva's job to track down the killer. With their affiliation with the Navy through NCIS, Gibbs and Director Vance thought that they could be a lure. And, knowing Agents Davíd and DiNozzo, whoever the killer was would most likely _not_ be able to attack again after dealing with them._

* * *

No. It simply could not be. Had he figured it out? Were they made? Were they being mocked? Tested? What was going on? Each of the three looked between themselves in moderately-hidden fear, silent.

"Sorry, Boss," Tony finally said, "could you—ahem—repeat that? Because I'm not sure I caught it." A deep flush rose in his neck and cheeks as a light sheen of perspiration formed on his forehead. Coughing nervously, he adjusted his tie and tried to smile, landing himself a giant smirk.

"You're going undercover again, Duh-Nozzo." Gibbs watched him with silvery blue eyes. He seemed to be enjoying this far too much for his own good. "What is there to not understand? Too much time in the sun for you?" He was obviously referring to the Israel excursion.

The team glanced between themselves. "Gibbs," Ziva spoke up, "You said there was going to be … a wedding?" The Silver Fox nodded, but looked around—a silent order to keep the situation shrouded by truth. "But, between who?" she asked softly, casting a half-smile upon Tony. Gibbs mouthed 'Conference Room' and sprinted up the stairs, coffee firmly in hand. His team followed closely behind him.

Once safely inside the room's closed door, he spoke freely. "The only two people on the team who _can_ get married, Dah-veed," he said, shoving his glasses down his nose to look at her over the rims. "Now, who do ya _think_?"

"There are three different—"

McGee chimed in, "It wouldn't be me, because I'm stuck here running intel and hacking." He sounded so confident when he said it that Tony had to let out a holler of laughter. "And you run the assignments, Gibbs, so they'd probably need you in MTAC…" The computer nerd's eyes widened considerably. "That leaves…"

"Davíd and DiNozzo," Gibbs agreed, eyes twinkling. "All decisions are up to you," he said. "Last time I gave my opinion on wedding plans, I got a divorce instead." The team leader stood and swept out, stowing his glasses in his jacket pocket.

Tim grinned at his teammates as the other two stared at each other in mock horror. "Aw, look at the two wintertime lovebirds," he joked. "Well, Ziva, I guess it's finally time to take Abby dress shopping!" Ziva never stopped looking at Tony, nor did he ever stop looking at her. "And I … I suppose it's time to go … um … look for tuxes—am I intruding on something?"

"Only wedding plans, McBest-Man," Tony snapped, waving him away. The MIT graduate stood and walked out, letting out a sigh. The nicknames were growing tiresome, albeit perpetually original. He decided to go share the 'good news' with Abby, who would no doubt squeal like a little schoolgirl.

On McGee's departure, Tony stood and walked over to his 'fiancé'. "Well, Mrs. DiNozzo…" He watched her every move. "Have an idea of what dress you're going to get? We've got four weeks to plan."

Ziva nodded. "That just means I might have to buy off the rack, but I have no problem with that." She made a mental note to change her computer password so that he wouldn't be able to hack in and see what internet tabs she had open on the screen. An Alfred Angelo vendor was her destination after work. "I was thinking that for colors, we could—"

"You're doing wedding plans _already_?" Ziva nodded. "Jeez. Give it a break!"

"Why?" The former-Mossad agent frowned. Tony led her from the room and down the stairs to their desks.

Standing before Ziva's station, he shifted weight between his feet, expelling a hard breath from his lungs. "Well, Zeev, I was wondering if you'd like to come over for dinner tonight and we could figure it out then…"

"I need to have material to work with, Tony," she insisted. "But I will be over at your house at six."

"Hell, Davíd," Gibbs said, squeezing between Tony and her desk on his way back to his own, "just take the rest of the day off." He smirked at them and when they didn't move, he shooed them with just a look.

* * *

Sitting in the _Westend Bistro_, on 22nd Street, Tony and Ziva made great strides in planning out the wedding, right down to the tuxedoes (sans the dresses, of course). It was decided (but not proclaimed) that Gibbs would walk Ziva down the aisle, Ducky would be one of the attendants, and Abby would be the Maid of Honor. Palmer would play piano, and Marjorie (from Accounting) would accompany him with the harp. Everything seemed to cooperate as far as the ceremony itself.

That night, when Tony opened his door, Ziva felt like things were actually going to be perfect. She thought maybe she could get used to this, even after the undercover assignment was completed. "Tony? What is all this?" she asked, following him into his apartment. The lights were lower than usual, and there were two candles lit on his small kitchen table. "I just came over to talk about the…plans…"

"Right, but I thought we agreed that you'd come over for _dinner_?" Tony smiled and led her to the table, taking her jacket and hanging it up in his coat closet. He pulled out her chair for her (as any gentleman would) and helped her pull it in closer to the table before sitting down himself. "So, we have a few things checked off, right?"

"Well, yes and no," she answered, sipping on the red wine he had poured for her. "We still haven't picked an actual _date_ for the ceremony, and we still need a location for both that and the reception."

Tony held up a finger and crossed the room to a small table in the corner. From the drawer he pulled a pile of papers and brochures. "I went to the chamber of commerce today after work. They gave these to me." He handed them to her and explained, "I thought you might like _1840s Ballroom_ in Baltimore. Take a look at the pictures."

"It is…" Ziva was at a loss for words. 'Gorgeous' didn't at all seem close. "It is beautiful," she said simply, flipping through the pictures. "We could have the ceremony inside, and then go outside for pictures or something, or go off into a different part of the mansion, while the tables were set up for the reception."

"Don't you want a bit of Jewish tradition in there somewhere?" he asked, taking the pictures back from her to look at. His hand grazed hers. "I'm more than willing to wear a yarmulke." While it was a joke, Ziva was touched.

Nonetheless, she shook her head. "No, I do not expect you to, Tony," she murmured. "Gibbs said that this was to be an undercover assignment, and since, when I actually get married, I will most likely be expected to uphold the Jewish traditions, I want to experience those of Christianity, for once."

Tony relented, but did speak up about the guests and wedding party. "Who're you inviting?"

"Well, my idea of a wedding party would be, naturally, Abby as Maid of Honor, Nina as a bridesmaid, and Eliana as flower girl, but the last two are still in Israel, so that is impossible." Ziva sighed. "I would not want to have them come here, for a fake wedding…" Besides, what would Aunt Lucy think?

He nodded, and Ziva thought perhaps he had an agenda of his own that he was refusing to reveal to her. "McGee's my Best Man, and my groomsmen are Ducky and a friend from college." Then, he was silent, thinking. After a while, he said, "I think the chicken's done."

As they ate, they discussed wedding colors. He told Ziva that he had actually thought about his future wedding before in the past, and he'd always seen the colors including deep blue. Ziva didn't want to admit it, but she agreed; deep blue—not yet navy, but not indigo, either—would make his eyes look stunning. And, she had always looked good against blue. They decided together that the colors would be dark blue and silver, and Ziva already had the perfect dresses in mind.

"I'll be right back," Tony murmured, standing and disappearing into his bedroom. He returned with a small velvet box, similar to the one the Star of David had come in. Before Ziva realized what he was doing, she was taken by the hand and Tony was kneeling on the floor beside her, the velvet box open and in his palm. Inside was a stunning, gold band with a solitaire diamond. The top of the band was embossed with a delicate, floral design with a princess-cut stone. It took all of her will to not gasp, but she sensed she had failed when her partner let out a soft chuckle.

She managed to utter a broken "It's beautiful" before he squeezed her hand.

"This is my grandmother's engagement ring from the Forties; she left it to my mom, who left it to me. I only just got it, because my dad had it in his safety deposit box for when I 'needed' it," Tony explained in one breath. "And I want you to have it, and I want you to say you'll marry me."

Ziva smirked. "Tony, you realize that I have to 'marry' you, regardless of whether I accept your proposal or not, right?"

"Not so, Miss-Davíd-Soon-To-Be-Mrs.-DiNozzo," Tony slowly replied, a testing grin forming on his face, "Gibbs said that if you and I weren't compatible, he'd pair you with Stevens."

Ziva shuddered from the image; Agent Stevens was short and portly, with boils along his chin and a balding spot on the back of his head that, for some strange reason, always had a purplish bulge below it. Gibbs' team sometimes speculated, when their fearless leader wasn't around, if the freaky, bruised mass was the result of copious head-slaps, but often came to the conclusion that the two were not correlated, as Stevens had never worked under Gibbs and he held the honor of a head-slap for his agents only.

"So," the Senior Field Agent started again, his voice huskier than before, "Ziva Davíd, will you marry me?" Ziva thought she could hear a hint of desperation under the strength in his voice, but she could have just been grasping at strings.

Especially since she was close to tears as she nodded 'yes'.

* * *

Over the next week, everything seemed to fall together. When it came to the menu, however, they could not come to agreeable terms. "No!" Ziva argued. "We are _not_ having pastrami crostini on the hors d'oeuvre table!" They finally compromised on the caterer, _Divinity_.

After meeting with the catering company, the partners were confident that they would have a sophisticated spread, complete with four courses, even on such short notice. Hors d'oeuvres, four served courses, dessert (not including the cake), and an open bar would be included at only around a hundred dollars per person. Since it would be a small wedding, there would be no worrying about the cost. Besides, Ziva decided to chip in and help with the payments, seeing as it kind of _was_ a wedding she would be involved with. And, the tasting was a lot of fun. It was all part of the undercover work, Tony and Ziva told each other.

"So, let's see," Tony said after the tasting, scratching the side of his nose and reading the paper in front of him. "We've got tenderloin crostini, duck Reuben crisp, Cobb salad tart, and crab cakes as hors d'oeuvres—" He dramatically emphasized each syllable of the world and his partner giggled at him as he continued this pattern with each following culinary word. "—and the served appetizer is a goat cheese _soufflé_ with fennel-apple salad—that _was_ pretty good, huh?" Ziva nodded and he continued, "—A choice of beef _bourguignon_ with garlic smashed potatoes and broccoli, Moroccan chicken _roulade_ with hummus-stuffed cherry tomatoes and smashed potatoes, and penne pasta with sundried tomatoes and pesto for choices on the main _entrée_…" Groaning, he dropped his head to his arm. "I sound so … feminine. I sound like McGee!"

Ziva just patted his arm and murmured, "No, you don't. You sound like a man who is getting married."

"Alright. Well, then we have dessert…" The Senior Field Agent asked, "We're getting a cake, yeah? And then on top of that we've got little odds and ends like ice cream, cookies, and cocktails…"

"Exactly."

"Is this what planning a wedding is like?" he wailed. Ziva thought he sounded so pathetic, but in a cute way. Ziva stood, walked around his chair and massaged his shoulders. He visibly relaxed. "We have three weeks. That's twenty-one days."

She nodded and returned to her seat, checking her list while trying to appear as though she was working. "I have my dress; how are the tuxes?"

"We're getting ascots, right?" Tony asked absentmindedly, not looking at her but flipping through paperwork on his desk. When Ziva didn't answer, but instead just stared at him in disgusted incredulity, he glanced up at her, pursing his lips. It could have been from an attempt at _not_ smiling. "I'm kidding. Blue vests, blue ties, 'subtle' silver pinstripe on the suit. I remember." He stared at her, trying to reassure her, but she was still unconvinced. "Zeev, chill. It's just a joke…"

"I had a bad experience with ascots." Tony shot her a quizzical look before getting up, crossing over to her, and perching on the edge of her desk so that she could tell him without the entire office knowing her story. "I went to a wedding in Majdal Shams, and the wedding colors were lime green and orange." They both winced. "The ascots were green against orange vests, and the bridesmaids were in stripes of the colors. It was horrid."

Tony patted her head and said, "Ziva, we both have more class than that. Don't worry." _Your day will be perfect._

* * *

"My final fitting is today," Ziva told Abby a week later with a small amount of fear in her eyes. "Are you coming with me to pick up the dresses?" The Goth girl smiled, obviously ecstatic, and nodded. "Do you _like_ your dress?"

Abby's eyes bugged out of her head. "Do I _like_ it?" she blurted. "I _love_ it! It's so classy and gorgeous and beautiful, with a little bit of sex appeal. I love it. All of it." She and Ziva had long since come to the joint decision of having a different dress for the maid of honor, to make her stand out, and had therefore (after finding the bridesmaid dresses, of course) spent most of the rest of that day picking out what Abby was going to wear. They ended up purchasing a beautiful, floor-length dress; it hinted at mermaid-style and had a scalloped neckline, strapless of course. It came in a stunning sapphire color that was _exactly_ what Ziva and Tony had wanted to begin with. Dressy for Abby, she still fell in love with the satin as much as Ziva had—and about twice as quickly.

For the rest of the bridesmaids, Ziva had found dresses in the same color as Abby's, but in a different style. They were strapless and fell a few inches below the knee, with a silver ribbon right below the bust. Tony had suggested she get one or two, just to be safe. For whatever reason, she hadn't known, but had done so anyway with the measurements she had given him.

On the way to the dress shop, Ziva turned to Abby and whispered, "I am realizing how close the wedding is."

The forensic scientist rolled her eyes. "Oh, give it up, Ziva! This is going to be _so_ much fun. And then you get to nab this guy who gets off killing people on their wedding nights," she reassured. "Besides, it's you and Tony. You make a great couple." Ziva nodded subconsciously and continued driving. When they arrived, Abby hopped out of the car and waited for her friend, who led her inside for everyone's final sitting.

Neither of them had been expecting the Middle Eastern woman who was sitting in the corner with a little girl on her lap, nor had they foreseen the little girl running up to Ziva squealing, "_Zivaaaa!_"

"Nina? What are you…?" Ziva began to ask, and then gave the answer to herself. "Tony invited you, didn't he?" Nina smiled warmly and rose to hug her cousin.

"It has been too long, Ziva, and with this being your special day—and since I have never been in the United States—I thought it was the perfect time to come for a visit." She draped her long, brown hair over one shoulder. "Eliana does not know why we are here."

Ziva looked down at the girl and then stooped down to her level, her brown eyes glittering. "Eliana, I have very good news for you."

"What?" Eliana said it in a goofy sort of disbelief.

"Remember how you married Tony and me on the last night of Chanukah?" The little girl nodded. "In about a week, he and I are getting married _for real_." Wide hazel eyes met chocolate. "Would you like to be my flower girl?"

"Yes! Yes! _Yes_!" Eliana cheered, hugging Ziva tightly. "Ziva is going to be Tony's _life_…_Again_!"

Neither Nina nor Ziva bothered correcting her, but instead led her over to a wall of flower girl dresses to try on. After about fifteen minutes of perusing, Ziva chose a silver, ankle-length dress with a sapphire colored sash around the waist. On the bodice were dark blue rhinestones. Eliana completely adored it, and Ziva thought it represented the wedding colors quite nicely.

Eventually, Nina took Ziva aside, letting Abby coddle Eliana for a while by herself. "Ziva, your father is coming for the wedding." She said it all in one breath; a Band-Aid hurts less when ripped off in one swift pull, after all. Ziva sucked in a breath and then nodded. "You expected this?"

"He would want to come see his daughter get married," Ziva thought aloud. "I cannot demand that he does not come. What about your mother?" Nina stared at her. "I take it you could not get her on a plane?"

"Not in a million years, Cousin," the other woman joked. "I just thought I should tell you. Malachi is playing Director of Mossad right now, until your father's return to Israel."

_The only problem is that this is all a ruse._

* * *

The caterer had been paid, the venue rented, and the DJ selected.

Ziva had made all of the appointments she would need—waxing, makeup, hair, manicure, and pedicure—and was overjoyed when she learned they would be coming to her apartment. She had gone to pick up her 'fiancé's' wedding band the previous day, along with the bridesmaids' dyed shoes and her ivory, satin shoes. Her dress was hanging in the darkest part of her closet. Everything was coming together.

Tony, too, had a good feeling; the wedding band he'd had engraved for Ziva had come into the store, and he had finalized his vows. He thought it was a bit like _Father of the Bride_, but decided not to say anything. His wedding day would be one of the few moments in his life where he didn't want to spew mindless movie quotes. He just wanted to think about how stunning his partner looked, and how jealous he would be someday if she didn't marry _him_, but someone else.

There were four days left before they'd be walking down the aisle. And both were a little spooked. At work, they would just smile, Ziva always blushing and Tony usually not far from it, and both McGee and Gibbs watched them in a mixture of curiosity and disgust.

Gibbs had started to second-guess his trust in Rule Number Twelve. Obviously, his agents wouldn't still be working as well as they did if the Rule hadn't pushed them together in the first place, but that wasn't to say that the Rule was always right. Tony and Ziva were getting married. As he walked by Ziva's desk, he handed them a folder. Inside was their marriage license.

"Gibbs?" Ziva murmured, rolling her chair over to his desk so that they could talk quietly. "I was wondering if…you would like to walk me down the aisle?"

For a moment, the team leader looked confused, and that quickly was replaced by compassion. "Davíd, isn't Eli coming?" he joked.

"He is, but I only just found out, and I have been planning on asking you for four weeks." She took his hand. "Gibbs, I need you."

He swallowed hard and blinked a few times before breaking into a wide grin. "It would be an honor, Ziva." She squeezed his hand and then rolled back to her desk.

Tony had watched this all with a keen eye, realizing how important Ziva really was to their boss.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Keep your eyes peeled for Chapter Two! (And, if anyone wants solid pictures of what everything looks like, feel free to send me a personal message or e-mail!)_


	2. Romance

_**A/N:**__ Well. As you all have probably seen on the CBS website…::sniffles::…Tiva is in danger of extinction. Unfortunately, they're bringing in a new girl. I don't know what this means for Ziva, but they need to put an end to the silliness, buy my plotline, and marry Tony and Ziva now. Like, literally, now. I am extremely upset by the producers' blatant abuse of Tiva powers. To prove to you that I'm also not in favor of some short blond chick taking our man (Ziva's and mine and whoever else wants to marry Tony..) there will be a long delay in updating _**The Time**. _Consider it a position of defiance! I refuse to fuel the obliteration of Tiva. I fully refuse. It goes against my genetic code. Oh, yes, speaking of genetics, I hope to update _**Wait For You**_ shortly, since that supports Tiva. But, regardless of that, back to the issue at hand—the addition of the blond bimbo is _only_ going to make me more apt to update this one! Support of Tiva. Screw you, CBS, I want my Tony to be with Ziva. Well, no, I want him with me, but you know what I mean._

_**Disclaimer: **__Under no circumstances do I own any of the complete malarkey that CBS is trying to feed us. New NCIS agent? What? Blond? Who? No, I own Lacey and that's it, and she's not in this. Because guess what? I own her and I told her to run out to California. Literally running. Because she's not welcome here anymore._

_**Real Disclaimer:**__ I do not own some of the vows. I only take __**full**__ credit for the vows that Ziva and Tony wrote for each other. The dress is from Alfred Angelo. Send me a question in a personal message if you want to see it; by all means, you should! All of the bridesmaid dresses are from Alfred Angelo as well. The music Palmer and Marjorie (my own creation, by the way) are playing is the making of their respective owners and not I. Anything else you recognize is either mine or CBS's. _

* * *

Four days. That was all that was left and both partners felt the pressure. The florist began calling to settle delivery times. The cake decorator sent their bills and Ziva paid out of pocket. Tony's tailor kept nagging him about fittings and re-fittings, just in case 'the skinny one' (which was, of course, McGee) 'lost any more weight'. Gibbs, too, was laying it on thick with the workload, conveniently forgetting that the assignment _was_ their work and doling out more paperwork to keep their minds alert.

In reality, Gibbs knew that Tony and Ziva were running through every possible diversion for the wedding, trying to figure out some way to postpone it a day or two. They were nervous. It wasn't just any old assignment, and their boss knew that. Hell, Leon had even seen it.

The entire month had filled the silvery-haired man with memories. He'd been through four weddings total in his lifetime, although the third was an elopement. Gibbs remembered how stunning Shannon had looked in her white wedding gown. The other three were black and white in comparison to her vivid image in his mind. And then Kelly's face swam to the front, smiling. He had to bite back a small, sad smile while he wondered what she would look like now. What if this was her wedding? What if he were walking her down the aisle, instead of Ziva?

At least the Reynosas had paid for what they'd done to Gibbs' family, as had the drug-lord's ballsy daughter and son.

The widower subtly watched Ziva, his blue eyes falling on the diamond engagement ring on her left hand. It looked old, perhaps Tony's mother's, and Gibbs couldn't help wondering if maybe this wasn't _just_ an undercover assignment. Was this for real? There wasn't any other logical explanation for Tony giving Ziva a treasured family heirloom, so there must be ulterior motives that Gibbs hadn't thought of before.

In his defense, he knew all about Tony's feelings for Ziva (and hers for him). Even when he had announced, a couple of days ago, that during Ziva and Tony's absence, there would be a temporary agent—EJ Barrett—filling in, he didn't turn heads. Showed them the picture; nothing from Tony, and nothing but a little bit of tension from Ziva. Jealousy? Territory issues? What was it that made the partners tick? Gibbs was certainly going to try several routes. He had ninety-six hours before the ceremony. Actually, by now, it was down to about eighty-nine. But that was one thing about Marines.

They never gave up.

* * *

"I am panicking," Ziva murmured, watching her appearance in the mirror start to take on a different look altogether. "I never panic. Why am I panicking?" Abby touched her shoulder gently, staying out of the hairstylist's way as best as she could. The women made eye contact until the Goth smirked.

"Because, silly," Abby joked. "You're marrying _Tony DiNozzo_." Ziva had to admit that while the woman was right, it was difficult to take her seriously because of the fact she didn't look like the Abby she had always known. For once, she wasn't wearing an inch of black (excluding her hair, of course) and her makeup was—for the most part—completely natural: a small amount of eyeliner, a touch of peach-tinted silver eye shadow, blush, bronzer, and nude lipstick. She wore silver and clear cubic zirconia jewelry, and her hair was swept up in a curly up-do and pinned in place with rhinestone-studded bobby pins. Abby was Abby, just a more grown-up, sophisticated, non-Goth version with a rhinestone-studded, silver-leaf-laden, white rose, orchid, and gardenia mini-bouquet.

Nina popped her head into the room, her blue dress making her dark brown eyes stand out and her skin glow. "Tony looks smashing." Taking one look at Ziva, the woman said, "Oh, and Ziva, so do you!" She, too, held a bouquet.

"My hair is not finished yet." She had decided to put her hair in a half-do, with loose curls cascading down her back. A tiara was now being clipped in place and molded to the crown of her head. "And then makeup, and—Oh, Nina, what am I doing?"

Ziva's cousin crossed the room toward her and crouched beside the bride's chair, resting her elbow on the wooden arm. "Ziva, you are getting married. And it is about time, too, because you _are_ twenty-eight, after all." The former Mossad agent stared into the mirror, watching her hairstylist put the finishing touches on her hair. "When Tony came for Chanukah, I swear that I have never seen you so happy in my _life_. You really opened up, and I could see that he cared a great deal for you. That he _cares_ a great deal for you." Ziva swallowed hard.

Nina had to try a different route. "Look, Ziva…go out there today and pretend no one else is in the place but _you_. When I married Adam, you know how painfully shy I was. I pretended that I was just walking down the aisle toward him. Not one other person was in the synagogue, only Adam and Ima and Aba," she explained. "So when you walk down the aisle on Special Agent Gibbs' elbow, do the same thing I did. Because, quite frankly, Tony is the _only_ person who matters today. Not me, not Doctor Mallard, not Special Agent McGee, not Eliana, not the preacher, not—"

"_Oh, no!_" Ziva blurted. "The preacher!" It all came rushing back to her. This was an _undercover assignment_. She was supposed to watch out for the _preacher_. Of course he mattered; of course she needed to pay the man some heed. Certainly, she had to make it look as though Tony was the main event, but in reality, this was all a trap for Reverend Kessler. She remembered when she and Tony had met with him, or at least the first time. For at least three weeks, every other day she and her partner were in the preacher's quarters, discussing the ceremony, choosing readings and songs, and then discussing family and planning to raise one.

But the very first time she saw Kessler, she had known something was very wrong with him. From the way his eyes openly grazed her body—to which Tony, too, had bristled slightly—to the way he talked about family and humanity's duty to 'go forth and multiply', there was something about the man that was just upward of disturbing, and it had haunted Ziva from that day forward.

Now sitting here, awaiting the moment Ducky would come in and collect her, she felt somewhat sick to her stomach. She didn't hear Abby tell Nina that it was just nerves. She didn't hear Nina insist that Ziva looked ill. She didn't even hear the makeup lady ask her to tip her head back.

"_A honeymoon is not something to be taken lightly, as I am sure you both understand." _Kessler's voice rang out in her head, only showing through an apparition of his wide, almost-too-toothy grin dissolving into her memory. _"There is something oddly satisfying about imagining the love and devotion a bride and groom show each other in those few days after their souls are bound. They are worshipping God, and all of Creation, in that one, single act." _Ziva shuddered, recalling the rest of the man's speech. _"You see, Tony, your duty is to protect your wife—body and soul—from all harm. And Ziva, your duty is the same—you must protect Tony from all bodily and otherwise harmful things in the world. How else is a better way of doing that than consummating your love, consummating your marriage and the vows you will make at the end of the month?"_

At the time, Tony and Ziva had considered him a socially awkward man, who meant well (other than the knowledge that he was also a potential murderer) but often said things that others would never think of voicing. After the meeting, the Senior Field Agent had addressed the fact that Kessler had almost seemed as though he were _visualizing_ Tony and Ziva sleeping together. Ziva had quickly walked from the room and down the hall to get tea from the break room, and for the rest of the day, she hadn't let Tony—much less anyone else—touch her (nor had she looked in any mirrors). Reverend Kessler gave her a feeling of unrest. He made her uncomfortable.

So now, sitting in the Bridal Lounge, preparing to walk down the hall in a form-fitting gown and made to look like a queen, only to be met at the end of the aisle by the man who made her nauseous (as well as the other man who made her smile through it all) to say Ziva grimaced would be the understatement of the century. But even so, she stayed, tilting her head back to let the woman do her makeup. She couldn't drink any more tea, or she would, of course, be compelled to excuse herself from her own wedding to go to the ladies' room. She would just have to calm her 'jitters' the old fashioned way.

_I am marrying Tony. I am marrying the man I love. He proposed, and I love him, so I am marrying him. Anthony DiNozzo. I am marrying Anthony David DiNozzo._

Eliana skipped over to her, grinning widely, looking both adorable and beautiful in her silver and blue flower-girl dress. With the little girl by her side, and with that mantra going through her head, she was able to finally relax.

* * *

Palmer began the chords of Rubenstein's _Romance_ on the ivory and black piano keys, with Marjorie on the harp, as guests began to trickle in and take their seats, all females escorted by Ducky and Tony's friend from Ohio State, Joe. Both were wearing their black suits with the faintest of silver pinstriping, single orchid boutonnieres, and matching sapphire vests and ties. Both looked smashing.

When everyone was seated, the Reverend Kessler made his procession down the aisle, accompanied by _Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring_. When he reached the front, Tony and McGee stood and walked up to the arbor, watching everyone who was walking up toward them and shaking the preacher's hand. The Senior Field Agent glanced around and then rubbed his nose out of pure nerves; the seats were filling up and the ceremony was minutes from starting.

Eli and Lucy (who had decided to come, after all, from Tony's constant begging for the entire month) walked toward the front of the room, followed by Anthony DiNozzo, Sr. (with his new fiancé, no doubt). They led their dates to their seats and sat down as well.

The wedding party then began their processional, with a swift change in music; Palmer didn't miss a beat in moving into _Canon and Gigue in D Major_ as Ducky and Ziva's second bridesmaid, Rose, entered the aisle. They split at the front, Ducky going right and Rose going left, and standing in their row of seats. Joe and Nina followed them, and then Eliana (who earned herself smiles and pleased gasps from each of the guests).

And then Abby set foot in the aisle, catching McGee off guard. For a moment, he forgot that it was, in fact, Forensic Scientist Abigail Sciuto, because she was dressed so…unlike the Abby he knew. But he loved this one just as much, and couldn't help his grazing eyes as he took in her appearance.

As if on cue, everyone turned their heads and stared down the aisle, waiting to see the bride. Jimmy rose a key and smoothly played the starting chords of the infamous Wedding March. As Gibbs led Ziva down the aisle, she seemed to glide on air. She held a stunning bouquet, similar to her bridesmaids', and a veil softly covered her face. It felt like it all was just happening so fast; before she knew it, she was halfway down the aisle, Gibbs' elbow firmly looped through her own. He said something, but she wasn't paying attention; her eyes were focused solely on the man in the tuxedo at the end of the aisle.

Tony's mouth went dry the second he laid eyes on Ziva, as he had expected would happen. McGee nudged him, but he was so numb he didn't feel it. All he could do was watch her, his mouth slightly gaping, eyes trained on hers but subconsciously taking in her entire dress. The top of it hugged her curves, right down to mid-thigh, with a softly asymmetrical design—the entire thing was covered in subtle, sequined, silver flowers and vines, trailing down the skirt but fading away. At the end of the bodice, the skirt swept out, giving her the allusion of a modern-day princess-mermaid. The lacey skirt had a substantial train, but followed behind her. A single-stone pendant hung on a thin, silver chain around her neck, and she had a pair of stunning silver chandeliers hanging from her earlobes.

If Tony could have ravaged her where she stood, he would have long before he even had the thought. When Gibbs and Ziva reached him, the bridal party stood up around the pergola, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Abby grinned, taking Ziva's bouquet and inconspicuously squeezing the other woman's hand. She retook her place with the other bridesmaids and watched silently.

Reverend Kessler stepped forward and proclaimed, "We bring these two souls together today to be joined in the state of holy matrimony; if any person here can show cause as to why these two people should not be, speak now or forever hold your peace." Ziva and Tony turned and stared at Gibbs, who just twinkled his blue eyes at them and shrugged. The preacher then nodded and asked, "Who gives this woman to this man?"

Ziva expected a problem to arise; she always had, since her conversation with Eli earlier that week. She hadn't known that he would even be coming to the wedding until four days prior to the ceremony, and she simply had no qualms about not asking him to give her away. Gibbs was her boss, but also her pseudo-father, and she felt much closer to him than any other father-figure she could have chosen—even her biological dad. Besides, Eli had really upset her during Chanukah, and she was still on the border of forgiveness. Ziva was much more comfortable being given away by Gibbs, rather than Eli Davíd.

So, when Gibbs, Ducky, and Abby stepped forward and said, "We do", she was reduced to near tears—of joy.

"Excellent." To everyone else, Reverend Kessler said, "Everyone, you may take your seats." The bridesmaids, groomsmen, and Gibbs went to their chairs and obeyed. "Let us begin this ceremony with a short prayer. Heavenly Father, we thank you for bringing us all here today for such a miraculous and beautiful celebration. Watch over us through the joining of these two souls, and bring them much joy in the moments to come. Amen." He was joined with a resounding 'Amen', most predominantly Aunt Lucy's.

Kessler smiled widely. "Now, I have only known Ziva and Tony for about three weeks, but I have no reason to believe that this is a shotgun wedding. From their description of their relationship, their love has been nurtured and manufactured over several years." Several people chuckled, mostly McGee and Lucy. "They work together for the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, and as I have heard, have had to deal with their boss's rule about dating in the workplace."

Ziva flushed; she hadn't known that their statements at prenuptial counseling would be on-the-record.

"It isn't anything to be ashamed of! In fact, not many people are lucky enough to find a man or woman in their lives that they can share such a strong sense of understanding, compassion, and honesty with." Kessler nodded at them crassly and Tony squeezed Ziva's hand. "They deserve marriage." Ziva had to bite her cheek to stop herself from snorting.

The preacher looked down upon the couple with reverence. "Tony DiNozzo, have you been brought here out of your own free will, without coercion or other force?" Tony nodded and said he had, and the question was then turned on Ziva. For a moment, Ziva thought she was going to burst; of course they'd been brought here of their own free will, but also because they had a choice—do the assignment, or lose their jobs. The choice was theirs and they made it. And Kessler, one of these nights, was going down.

"I was."

"Then we shall proceed!" Kessler beamed at the group and then turned his attention to his couple. "I understand that you two have written your own vows. Tony, I ask you to say yours to Ziva now."

Tony took a deep, somewhat shaky breath and squeezed Ziva's hand, staring into her eyes. "I didn't think I was going to like you, you know." Ziva stared up at him in confusion, but a smile flickered on her face that was mirrored equally by him. "When you joined the team, I thought you were boyish, and violent, and just a little bit crazy." Here, the man chuckled, as did the bride. "But I also thought you were beautiful, and I still do. You and I have something so different and—although we've had to _hide it_—" He jokingly glared at Gibbs, who held up his hands in mock-surrender, before his eyes snapped back to Ziva's. "—You're different and special that I don't know what category it is, entirely, but I've loved every second of it.

"I could spend forever with you, just watching movies, and eating popcorn, and talking about the stupid things we did that day. I know I'm a big kid sometimes but you're one of the few people who really understand me, and I really want to thank you for that. And now, I understand you a lot more, because of spending Chanukah in Israel with you and your family." Tony bowed his head at Eli, Lucy, and Nina and then looked back at Ziva, who was blinking back tears. "I would spend every minute in Israel if that's what it took to be with you." The groom paused, as if debating whether to say the next few lines. "I would traipse across the desert to get you if I had to. That will _never_ change." And then a deep breath. "I love you, Ziva."

Kessler watched on as Ziva collected herself. "Ziva, I will now ask you to say declare your vows to Tony."

The woman squeezed her eyes shut, as if remembering, and then they popped open. When she spoke, there was a gentle firmness to her voice. "In his Twenty-Ninth Sonnet, Shakespeare wrote, '_When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,/I all alone beweep my outcast state/And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries/And look upon myself and curse my fate._' This really …" She swallowed hard. "…Sums up our relationship, I think." Tony nodded as she went on, "You have saved me countless times and have showed me how much you care about me. I want you to know how much I care about _you_.

"I think the first time I realized it was when we first went undercover together and were taken hostage. I saw that you wanted to protect me and could keep yourself calm and focused despite dire circumstances. That was the first time we were tied to chairs, but even so, I feel I learned much about you that day. The second time was in Somalia; you saved me, Tony, for which I can never say thank you enough. We faced each other, as well as our fears, and with Tim and Gibbs, and we left as a family. But you are different; you are not just family…you are Tony." A smile formed on Ziva's face and she paused. "And that is why…_I_ love you."

It was Tony's turn to blink back tears. Both could tell that the other's vows were from the heart; no one else had to know. No one else had to see that, although the wedding was a hoax, their feelings were real. No one _could_ tell. It was their little secret, and if anyone knew, that wasn't the couple's problem. It _was_ a wedding, after all.

"Ziva, Tony, it is time to exchange the traditional vows that you selected," Kessler instructed. "Ziva, when I finish, please say 'I do'." Ziva nodded. "Do you, Ziva, take Tony to be your lawfully wedded husband; to have and to hold, from this day forward; for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness, and in health; to love and to cherish, as long as you both shall live?"

"I do." She watched Tony with warm, chocolate brown eyes. The groom's eyes twinkled down at her and he ran his thumbs over her knuckles.

"And Tony, please say 'I do' when I finish." Tony nodded. "Do you, Tony, take Ziva to be your lawfully wedded wife; to have and to hold, from this day forward; for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness, and in health; to love and to cherish, as long as you both shall live?"

Huskily, Tony managed to say, "I do." He flexed his jaw, a contagious smile spreading across his face as well as the gem-like quality his green eyes had taken on. He shot her a silly look and then his face went to being completely placid. Thoughtful, but blank at the same time.

"At this time, we will exchange the rings."

Ziva felt herself trembling. This was _really_ happening. Forever. True, it was undercover, but the marriage license was real, as were the vows. And once the rings were on their fingers, she wasn't sure she'd want to take them off. Abby tapped her on the shoulder and when she turned around, the previous-Goth pressed the simple, gold band into her palm.

"Ziva, please repeat after me," Reverend Kessler murmured. "With this ring, I thee wed."

She slipped the ring onto Tony's finger, softly, but firmly, saying, "With this ring…I thee wed." A breath caught in Tony's throat and he took her wedding band from McGee's outstretched fingertips. It was stunning, similarly cast as her engagement ring. He said the same words, and then laced his fingers with hers.

"What God has joined together, let no man put asunder. With the power vested in me by God and the state of Virginia, I now pronounce you man and wife," Kessler proclaimed. Turning to Tony, he bowed his head. "Tony, you may now kiss the bride—we know you've been waiting since she got here!" Those congregated laughed, and even the couple had to let out a small chuckle.

Tony raised a hand to Ziva's cheek, and she raised hers to his. It seemed like forever as he dipped his face to meet her own, and her eyes fluttered shut. Their lips met and it felt like the first time they had _ever_ kissed. In a way, it _was_ their first kiss—their first kiss as a married couple. It was gentle, but hard; innocent but passionate; short, but long. It seemed to last decades, until finally he pulled away. Everyone was cheering; Abby stared at them knowingly; McGee looked confused and Gibbs just watched on, staring at them approvingly.

"Everyone, I present to you Mister and Missus Anthony David DiNozzo!" The final chords of the Wedding March played and Ziva and Tony, grinning, made their way down the aisle. Cameras flashed, petals flew, and before they knew it, they were standing in the lounge sucking face.

Weddings.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Another chapter, another day in the life of Tiva. Thank. Goodness. Hey, so, basically, there's a few more chapters! This is turning into full-length! Bah! So expect the reception next, guys!_


	3. I Do

_**A/N:**__ Hey. It's been a while. But I think this is well worth that wait. As always, I could never do anything like this without constant support and encouragement from my beta, surferdude8225. Thank you for all the reviews (those who reviewed) and I hope you're enjoying it so far…__**::and the countdown to Tiva's end begins…-starts digging hermit cave-::**_

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own: _NCIS;_ the United States Botanical Gardens; McDonalds'; The 1840s Ballroom; _Lamb Chop, _Dean Martin's_ You and Your Beautiful Eyes_, _Memories Are Made of This_, or_ C'est Si Bon_; Daniel Ho's _I Do_; Steven Curtis Chapman's_ Cinderella_; _the Latkes song_; Ben Harper's_ Not Fire, Not Ice_; Leann Rimes' _Remember When; _or_ _Joe's_ Don't Wanna Be A Player No More. _I wrote all of the speeches by myself. I only take credit for those, Nina, Eliana, Joe, and Rose. I completely recommend that you look up all songs included in this chapter for a complete understanding of why I've used them. _

* * *

Abby coughed softly from the lounge's doorway and Tony pulled away from his new wife, relishing in the feeling of Ziva's arms around his neck, his hands on her hips. The couple was whisked away toward a stretch limo—which, of course, was already broken in by the bride and her bridesmaids—with the rest of the group. Eliana was transported by Gibbs, who had already won her over and had her resting on his hip by the end of the recessional.

When they got to the door of the limo, Tony and Ziva slid in first, then the bridesmaids and groomsmen. Ducky had decided to ride with Gibbs, who had insisted on driving his own vehicle. His team joked that it was because the limo lacked a bottle of bourbon and was too small to make a boat in, and although no one else got the joke, it kept Tony, Ziva, McGee, and Abby in stitches for a good ten minutes.

Once the four had sobered, it was time to party. "So, Timmy!" Abby murmured, pulling the computer geek toward her. This left the blushing couple alone at the very back of the limousine, cuddled together. While the Maid of Honor knew that it was—in part—to keep up appearances for Joe, Rose, and Nina, she could tell that they had also said, 'To Hell with it' and had decided to enjoy the day for what it was: their wedding day. She held McGee in conversation, focused on only her (since she _was_ after all, half-flashing him), for the entire ride, which allowed Tony to pull Ziva up on his lap and nuzzle the back of her neck. Abby ignored it.

Tony whispered in Ziva's ear, "You know, today was fun."

"Mm-hmm," she agreed, crossing her legs. Ziva played with the hand he had wrapped around her, spinning the wedding band that adorned his finger. She couldn't think of anything else to say. She was emotionally drained from the rollercoaster that had taken her for a joy-ride not more than ten minutes prior, and was still gathering enough energy for the reception and evening to come. She finally noticed that Tony had long-since stopped kissing her neck, and she decided it was time for her to speak. "I am starving."

They still had pictures to take at the Botanical Gardens in Washington D.C., and it would be a good few hours before the reception, so Ziva knew she had a while to wait before she would be able to eat. Tony ran his finger across her knuckles and said, "Yeah, me too." To the rest of the group, he suggested, "How about after the pictures, we make a U-y and go to McDonalds'? Pick up something to eat, like burgers and fries, and then go on to the Ballroom?" Everyone agreed that it sounded like a marvelous plan, especially when Nina and Joe's stomachs growled loudly. "I'll take that as a 'yes'?" Tony joked, and everyone nodded.

* * *

"Okay, now, all stand center," a short, Italian woman directed, and Tony felt Ziva's backside get shoved against his hips. He lifted his hand to rest on her left hip, and she in turn relaxed into his body. "Good." There were a few clicks, a soft flash, and then the group was split into males and females. The lady photographer took Nina, Abby, Rose, and Ziva one way, and her partner (Eduardo) took Joe, McGee, and Tony the other way.

The girls were told to do silly or cute things, and by the end they had a cornucopia of poses that ranged from flirty to goofy to classy. Ziva's favorite was the single picture they had of the women with completely straight faces. It was in black and white, and Ziva could tell it would look beautiful. Though simple, it defined what she wanted her day to be: simply beautiful.

When she turned around, she saw that Tony was alone in the next frame, leaning against a white pole of the vine covered archway that stood above the path. He looked as though he was at some sort of modeling shoot for a men's catalog, looking at the camera with his glittering green eyes and small smile adorning his lips. She just watched him, wishing he could hold her. Or at least, wishing she could be held by him for a moment.

Suddenly, Ziva was taken by the elbow and steered toward him by the shorter woman photographer. "Bride and groom, together. Go, now." She situated Tony and Ziva so that he was looking down at his wife, their hands clasped between them. The next pose was with Tony carrying Ziva in his arms, one of hers slung around his neck. "Good, good. Beautiful. Amore!"

Tony grinned at her and then buried his face in her neck, working his way up to her mouth. When their lips met, there was a soft click and a flash and both the Senior Field Agent and his probie knew that their feelings would be held in a black and white still, in a frame, forever. Ziva gently lifted a hand to her partner's cheek. "I love you," she whispered.

"Ditto."

And that was the only movie reference he used for the rest of the day.

* * *

"I'd like to thank you all for coming out tonight to show your love for Tony and Ziva," the DJ crooned into his microphone. "We all know what amazing people they are, and I know from our meeting that they've both got a fantastic sense of music in their souls! So, let's greet them all with the love and respect they deserve."

Finger hovering over a button on the soundboard, the young man lowered his voice. "Eliana Davíd," he announced, and the Chanukah song she had loved so much from _Lamb Chop_ blared through the speakers as she skipped into the room. "Nina Davíd and Joe Proia," he said next, turning the music over to Dean Martin's beautiful vocals. The pair walked into _You And Your Beautiful Eyes_, arm in arm, toward the window. The song streamlined into _Memories Are Made of This_ as Rose and Ducky made their walk through the tables to line up next to the other two. "The Maid of Honor, Abby Sciuto, and Best Man, Tim McGee," the DJ declared, changing the song to _C'est Si Bon_. Next came the parents (Eli, Gibbs, Tony Sr., and Tony Sr.'s date); close relatives (Aunt Lucy); and Director Vance with his wife.

When they finished filing in, the song changed to the chords of soft guitar. "Now it's time to welcome and congratulate the bride and groom; give it up for Tony and Ziva DiNozzo!" The partners made their way onto the wooden dance floor; when they were at the center, Tony took Ziva's hand. She rested her free hand on his chest, and he wrapped a hand around her waist to sit on the small of her back. They swayed as the music progressed. Tony pulled her closer, until Ziva's head could lie against his right clavicle. He sang the words softly into her ear as they danced.

_I can't promise that I'll understand,  
But believe me, I'll always try.  
I can't promise I won't make mistakes,  
Or hurt you, or won't make you cry.  
But this much I'll never deny you:  
I'll be here with you 'til the end,  
No matter where tomorrow lies…_

By the time the song was over, Tony and Ziva had forgotten they were surrounded by the wedding party at all. "Time for you to dance with Boss," he murmured, kissing her on the lips just as softly.

"Oh, by the way," the DJ declared when he caught sight of their lip-lock, "Our bride and groom have made a rule." A curious silence fell on everyone in the room. "There's an age-old tradition that, if a guest wants the couple to kiss, they tap their glasses with a piece of silverware." A few people cheered. "Yeah, well, that's not going to fly here. If you want them to kiss, your entire table has to stand and sing a song that has the word 'love' in the lyric. Got it?" Everyone clapped. "For example, 'What's Love Got to Do With It' would be a perfect song. Any takers? Wait until dinner, though, because we've got the father-daughter dance." Toward the end of his speech, the DJ's voice trailed off, and over it came the sound of soft piano chords.

Gibbs stepped forward and took Ziva's hand from Tony. "Watch yourself, DiNozzo," he growled, so only Tony could hear, and whisked Ziva into a dancing position as Leann Rimes' _Remember When_ played. "So, Ziva, did you notice anything?" There was a gentle smile on his face, so as to not let on to anyone else that he was grilling her for information on the case. He was not about to let Ziva forget that the wedding _was_ under the pretense of an undercover assignment. In fact, he intended on destroying the marriage license right after they nailed the guy who had killed the three servicemen.

For right now, he would appear to be the kind father-figure that he actually _was_ to Ziva, but when the reception was over and whatever she and her partner got up to under the influence of champagne and hormones, he would be a bit more of a hard-ass.

"Kessler was staring at me the entire time, but he seemed genuine when it came to the vows and the meaning _behind_ the wedding," Ziva explained, beaming up at him, also with other thoughts on her mind than the wedding. "But overall, he did not do or say anything to obscure."

Gibbs nodded and they danced the rest of the song as though the conversation hadn't taken place at all. "You look beautiful, Zeev," he murmured, kissing the top of her head. "You'll make a great bride someday." It was a joke, but Ziva still took it to heart.

"Aw, everyone, how amazing was that?" The DJ's voice swept through the speakers. "Now, we're in for some amazing _food_. Please make your way to your tables. Enjoy the soft dinner music that Tony and Ziva have come up with!"

As dinner was served, Tony's hand made its way up Ziva's leg, taking her hand in her lap. "Hey," he said with a smile. "What'd you get?"

"The chicken, but you already knew that." Ziva smirked at him. "You know, you need to watch where you put your hands." His knuckles were curved under her palm, holding her hand from the bottom, making her upper thighs warm. "Maybe later," she whispered, taking another sip of champagne.

"Later?" He leaned forward and kissed her neck, right below her earlobe. "How much later?"

He would find out…later.

Ziva merely smirked and shrugged her shoulders, watching everybody receive their meals. Soon, dinner was over and it was time for speeches. Abby was up first, as Maid of Honor.

"So, I really, really, really like to talk, but since I'm sure you're all craving the dance floor—and we've got a bunch of other speeches to listen to—I decided to go first and get it out of the way and be fast, okay?" She let out a soft chuckle and then continued, "I've known Tony for almost eight and a half years, and he's become a big brother to me. And that's all you really need to know about him, because basically everyone here knows that he's got a heart of gold and amazing eyes and the strongest arms that give the best hugs—other than Gibbs, of course, because he's the best hug-giver ever!

"And I've known Ziva for about five years, and I can honestly tell all of you that I really didn't care for her that much at _all_ when I first met her. We'd just lost one of our agents—Kate, who Ziva replaced—and I was feeling bitter about it all. I thought that she was heartless, and stubborn, and calloused." Abby turned and looked at Ziva fondly. "And then I saw her actually show emotion. We went through a lot together, both positive and negative, but I think that we're like magnets, you know? Sure, we're on different ends, but that's why our friendship is so strong."

The guests looked up at her in confusion, and she therefore explained, "I mean, yeah, there are differences in magnet strengths and everything, so I'd have to say we're neodymium magnets, because they're the strongest in the world, after all. But that's the thing. Ziva and I have strong bonds, but we've all known for a _long_ time that the bonds between Tony and Ziva were strong_er_. He's _her_ life, and she's _his_. Now she gets to look into his eyes and feel his strong arms holding her. Best of luck to two of my favorite agents ever!" The forensic scientist held up her champagne flute and smiled before hugging Ziva and returning to her seat.

Next was Gibbs' speech. They had asked him to speak, not because he was 'father of the bride', but because they knew he would have something to say at least. He stood, adjusted his tie, and held the microphone in one hand while the other was stuffed in his pocket. "I don't give speeches at weddings, but I've been married enough times to know that when you're married for the first time, you need advice. And, Tony and I get along a lot better than me just standing up and saying a few corny lines. That would be an insult, much like a slap to the face. So, I guess it's time I do this… "

Gibbs stepped forward and smacked the back of Tony's head, and then continued, "Now that that's out of the way, you need to know something about my agents. They've abided by my rules for a number of years, always following the advice the rules hold." He smiled. "Don't lose that. Always set limits for yourself. Always keep yourself grounded, because when you lose track of where you are, you often lose sight of where you're going.

"Tony and Ziva, you both have great hearts, and obviously care quite a bit about each other. And therefore, I wish you the world and more. I hope you have many great years to come, because I'd be lost without two-thirds of my team." He, too, raised his glass, and saluted his agents. "To Tony and Ziva."

The moment Gibbs stopped talking, Eliana ran up and grabbed the microphone from him. A few older people in the crowd laughed, and others smiled. Ziva even let out a tinkling laugh as Tony slung an arm around her shoulders. The little girl smiled. "Hi! My name is Eliana, and Ziva is my ima's _bat dohd_. She came Chanukah in Israel and brought Tony and he gave her a pretty necklace and gave me a princess tiara and he made Ziva his life. And now it's real!" She grinned and said, "So I am going to sing now. _That is why, big or small, young or old, short or tall, everyone…loves potato latkes!_ That is from _Lamb Chop_. Tony watched it with me. So I sang and that means…Kiss, kiss, kiss!" Nina ran up, scooped Eliana into her arms, and walked off, shooting an apologetic look at her cousin.

Tony and Ziva shrugged and reveled in the moment, turning to each other and giving the other a chaste kiss.

The desserts began trickling out on trays, carried by smiling waiters and waitresses. It was McGee's turn to speak. Who knew what he was going to say? That worried Tony and Ziva, but they decided to say nothing and let their teammate work. McGee succeeded in bringing tears to Ziva's eyes and, when she looked over at Tony, saw that his green eyes were glittering too. They realized that, as much as they teased Tim for his writing, he truly had a way with words. His speech was beautiful.

Several tables took turns singing 'love'-songs, and there were few minutes that Tony's lips weren't touching Ziva's. It was fun, but their guests seemed to be enjoying it more than they had planned. They played along well with it all, also loving the fact they could love _each other_ under this disguise. They paid very close attention during Joe's speech, and Ziva couldn't help agreeing when he expressed how surprised he was when Tony had called and said he was engaged. They were very focused on each _other_, however, and therefore ended up tuning the rest of the speeches out, simply nodding and smiling.

Another set of sweet guitar chords poured from the speakers, followed closely by Ben Harper's gentle voice. Tony and Ziva had chosen _Not Fire, Not Ice_ for cutting the cake and handing out the slices, and their favorite verse would play the moment they placed the cake in each other's mouths, if they timed it right. They made their way up to the table and took the knife from its satin case; with Tony's hands over hers, their bodies close together, Tony's arms around her waist. And they made the first slice just as Ben Harper sang,

_The true love is priceless.  
__For true love you pay a price.  
__But there's nothing can keep me from loving you.  
__Not fire, no not ice.  
__Not fire, no not ice.  
__Like a hero or a champion.  
__You are the best, you're the best.  
__Like religion or superstition.  
__With you I am blessed.  
__With you I am blessed._

They released and turned to face one another, and Tony picked up a small piece of cake with his finger and thumb. Ziva opened her mouth and he placed it on her tongue effortlessly, without dropping a crumb of cake or frosting. She chewed, swallowed, and then fed him some cake, as well, accidentally smearing a bit on his upper lip; they then kissed, savoring the sweet frosting on each other's lips. Their guests cheered. They kept kissing. As their lips remained pressed together, the cheers grew louder still, especially when Ziva looped both arms around his neck.

Abby, Nina, and Lucy beamed up at the couple. The two people, who were so much in love but normally so scared of the consequences that faced them, were letting go. They were allowing the feelings they had for each other overpower them. It was beautiful, and when Abby looked over at Gibbs, she knew he saw it, too.

"Tony," Ziva whispered. "May I talk to you in the hallway for a moment?"

He nodded. To the guests, he announced that he and Ziva were going to the bar, and that if anyone else would like a drink, they should order one some point in the evening. He then led her out the door. The moment they got to the foyer—which was, thankfully, void of any stragglers—she had him pressed to the wall, her lips on his. She could still taste the frosting, its creamy, buttery texture only spurring her on. When she paused for air, he held her somewhat away from him. "Zeev…"

"What." It was not a question. As she fought to regain her breath, she brushed the fine baby hairs from his forehead.

"You said later," Tony said with a mischievous grin. "I'm holding you to that."

"Yes, fine." And with that, she dragged him back to the ballroom to dance. There was some sort of rock number blasting through the speakers, and Ziva thought that perhaps a preview of that evening was in order. She didn't care who was watching, at that point. She was having fun, and so was he. That was all that mattered.

Halfway through the fourth or fifth song, the music stopped and the DJ announced that 'the bride's aunt would like to say a few words.'

Lucy snatched the microphone away from the DJ and said, "I say one thing, because English is poor." Squinting, she pointed at Tony and Ziva. "I told you!" She hobbled back to her seat next to Eli and said nothing more. She did, however, seem amused at how Ziva and Tony laughed at her statement, and smiled up at them.

The music began again, playing a random hip-hop song that neither Tony nor Ziva knew. All they _did_ know was that it was as though a force were driving them together. Ziva turned around and pressed her back into Tony, and they moved together. Abby decided to step forward and front Ziva and McGee stood off to the side while Nina and Rose moved in to surround the groom on all four sides. They all danced like this for several songs, and then a slow song started playing.

She felt a soft hand on her shoulder and turned to see Eli staring at her, his eyes gentle and—dare she say it—proud. "Father?" she murmured, letting him take her hand. Tony and McGee went off in the other direction as she danced with her father. They danced very slowly, talking and laughing. Her new 'husband' watched her, enthralled, especially when she froze as the song hit a specific point.

_Well, she came home today with a ring on her hand  
__Just glowing and telling us all they had planned  
__She says, "Dad, the wedding's still six months away  
__But I need to practice my dancing  
__Oh, please, Daddy, please?"  
__So I will dance with Cinderella  
__While she is here in my arms  
__'Cause I know something the prince never knew  
__Oh, I will dance with Cinderella  
__I don't want to miss even one song  
__'Cause all too soon the clock will strike midnight  
__And she'll be gone._

* * *

"She looks amazing, Tony," McGee murmured, sipping at a glass of water. He'd long since decided that he'd had too much wine and therefore needed to watch the number of calories he took in the rest of the night. "You gonna do anything about it?" Tony shook his head. "This is a different side of Ziva. I've never seen her like this."

The Senior Field agent watched with slightly squinted eyes, thinking. "Yeah, I know. Isn't going to last, is it?" He half-resented Gibbs for making them go through with a real wedding, because while he had always feared the planning and commitment, now that he'd gone through it all…he actually enjoyed it. He was in love. With Ziva. And he had married her. And he was over that hump in the road. Tony could go on and do it again, several times. But not to other women, of course. Just Ziva. Ziva was the only one he'd ever want to marry. Jeanne was history at this point. Tony's Israeli Ninja was the only woman on his mind, and as far as he was concerned, she always would be.

Ziva hugged Eli and then turned and found herself face to face with Ducky. "May I have this dance, Ziva?" the medical examiner asked, extending his hand. "I requested a song I could actually keep up with." It was a slow waltz, classical (naturally), and something Ziva could easily do. She agreed and they danced, and when the song was over, she and Tony both realized that the reception only had an hour or so to go before it, too, was finished.

They moved together in harmony, with their friends, having the time of their lives. They danced themselves into oblivion. They worked themselves to the brink of exhaustion. And by the time the last notes of _Don't Wanna Be A Player No More_ played and everyone had left the Ballroom, Tony and Ziva had piled into Tony's car, gone back to Ziva's apartment, and changed into more comfortable clothing.

Over a glass of wine and a movie playing softly, Tony watched his new wife.

When she looked up, Ziva smiled at him. "What?"

His voice husky, Tony murmured, "You look beautiful." Ziva glanced in the mirror hanging over her television. Her makeup was a bit smudged, her eyelids heavy, and her hair was matted. She arched an eyebrow at her partner and shook her head. "No, Ziva, I'm serious."

"As am I," she said, gently shoving his chest. "I may have looked alright earlier, but—"

"_Alright_?" he repeated, sitting up to look her in the eyes. "No, Ziva, you looked _incredible_." Ziva had never heard him say anything like that before, at least not to her. "You were the most beautiful thing at the wedding. Even McGee said so." Tony leaned in slightly. "But I came up with the idea first."

She couldn't help snorting at his half-drunken state. "You have had too much to drink."

Tony shook his head insistently. "Zee-vah, this isn't the alcohol talking. It's just…"

"Loosening your lips?" Ziva noticed how close his mouth _actually_ was to hers and licked her lips subconsciously. Dropping her voice, she said, "I know."

"I don't want to pressure you."

She sat a bit straighter, her eyes wide. "Into what, exactly, would you be pressuring me?"

The groom frowned slightly, hesitating. She didn't push him. Finally, he said softly, "Making love to me tonight." There was a gentle desperation to his beautiful green eyes, and the slightest pout to his perfect lips that Ziva almost couldn't resist. She was too exhausted to even try to think about having sex with him. "I know you said 'later', but I don't want you to feel obligated, Ziva."

She rested her hand on his shoulder and snuggled closer, near sleep. "Ask me again tomorrow," she whispered before she was enveloped in warm, dreamlike darkness, his arms around her.


	4. Body Language

_**A/N:**_ As always, I could never have gotten this chapter up without surferdude8225's fantastic help! And for Valentine's Day, too! I will warn you (or at least..tell you) that there _is_ some racy stuff going on this chapter. Hey, it's the first night of their honeymoon (and who could blame Ziva? It's Tony!), so cut them (and me) some slack. It's not graphic, I wouldn't say. But. It did bring some angry feelings to the surface, such as my jealousy that Ziva is married to Tony and whatnot…but enough of my jealous babble! They're not married in the series (yet!) so here goes nothin'…

_**Disclaimer:**_ _I do not own Aspen, _Hotel Jerome_, or _NCIS_. I own any characters you don't recognize. And I am now the proud owner of an amazing eyeliner by _Palladio_. I just felt like throwing that out there…_

* * *

Tony woke up the next morning, if it really could be called that. The sun wasn't up yet and their flight wouldn't be leaving until one that afternoon. He glanced at the clock and saw that it really was only around two, so he picked Ziva up and, cradling her against his chest, carried her into her bedroom. With one arm, he pulled her covers back, while supporting Ziva's back with his free arm. He tucked her into her bed, and then climbed in the other side. It was as though it was the _right_ thing to do.

Ziva turned over and nestled into his chest, her arm slung over him. Chocolate irises met mossy sea-green as Tony very gently lifted her chin and kissed her the same way. As her eyes drifted shut again, he whispered, "Our very first morning as spouses, Zeev." She nodded and then fell asleep. Her snoring had seemingly reversed itself, or perhaps she was just too exhausted to sound like a 'drunken sailor with emphysema'. Either way, Tony was prepared this time for whatever the evenings brought. Very prepared.

He shivered a bit, thinking of what exactly they were expected to do. Was it going to be just like the last time they were 'married'? Were they supposed to act like newlyweds?

The question, Tony supposed, wasn't really what they were expected to do… It was, "Would he actually be able to control himself?" He was married. There was a myriad of emotions pulsing in his veins like a ticking time bomb. Ziva was the aficionado at disarming bombs, wasn't she? If Tony were left that responsibility…and if Ziva didn't try to stop the bomb, there was no question of when it would detonate, and therefore…they would have to deal with the aftermath.

Unfortunately, there was something about this that told him that nothing bad would happen. In his mind, it was open and shut. They'd go on their honeymoon, maybe sleep together, maybe not; they'd figure out what happened afterward, and catch the bastard who they were _supposed_ to be focusing on right now; then, if they lost their job because of sleeping together, they would be married. They'd get other jobs and they could support each other. If Gibbs destroyed the marriage license, they'd just go and get a new one, and have a courthouse wedding. They'd exchanged their vows. Tony knew they couldn't be taken away, now that they'd been spoken.

Ziva mumbled something in her sleep, and Tony whispered, "Pardon?"

"Tonight."

And he knew what she meant.

* * *

The plane ride to Aspen was uneventful. Tony and Ziva slept most of the way on the plane (despite the copious amounts of coffee both had consumed while waiting to board their flight), her head on his shoulder, and his head resting on her crown.

When they woke up, the elderly woman sitting next to them graciously told them a lovely anecdote from when she had married her late husband, Roger, and fought tooth and nail to do so. She was going to Aspen to spread his ashes in the mountains. She skied, and had for ages. It was the only time that her arthritis didn't keep her confined to her wheelchair, skiing down a mountain in the snow. Roger had taught her how to ski in their third year of marriage, and their annual ski trip had become a staple in their lives—and continued to be, thirty years after he had died.

"You two are so sweet," she told them. "I'm Stella. I've been watching you two sleeping—not in the creepy way, of course—and I must say you two go very well together." Stella patted Tony's arm, the hand of which was entwined in Ziva's. The hazy cabin lights still managed to glint off of the gold band on his ring finger. "Where are you staying tonight, hmm?" There was something about her that seemed familiar, and comfortable.

"Hotel Jerome," Tony told Stella with a smile. When her eyes lit up, he asked, "Have you stayed there?"

Stella shook her head, her silver hair bobbing. "No," she said, "but I've always wanted to. Roger once said he made reservations for one of our trips, but I got sick on the way there…"

"That's too bad." There was quite a bit of sympathy in Tony's voice and Ziva played with his ring. Stella shook her head, looking at her own ring.

"It turned out that I was pregnant with our first son, so it was worth it."

Ziva's eyes perked when she heard the words 'pregnant' and 'child'. It was her little secret, but she had always wanted to get married and have children. Settle down, stop working, and actually be a wife and mother from home. Her father had always said that she wouldn't be happy at home, that she'd feel trapped. At one time, she would have agreed with him, but after seeing Tony interact with Eliana, and then seeing him the previous day at their wedding, she was convinced that it was the way of life she wanted. Forever.

"Does he live in Aspen, Stella?" she inquired, poking her head out around Tony's chest to look into the other woman's youthful, hazel eyes.

"No," Stella told her. "He was drafted into the Vietnam War, as a Marine. All I know is that he was taken as a Prisoner of War three weeks into his first tour."

Tony offered a soft, sad smile. "We work for NCIS, so we closely deal with those who're in the Marines and Navy every day. I'm so sorry you've had to go through that." Stella reached over, squeezed his hand, and winked before turning back to her knitting.

This gave Ziva time to think about the days ahead of them. So, to Tony, she murmured, "I think when we get to the airport, I will need to get a bottle of water."

"Why not just get one now?" he asked.

"The pill that I need to take is in my luggage, not my carry-on."

Her partner tilted his head to look at her. "And what 'pill' would that be, Zeev?" There was a knowing glimmer to his green irises. For some reason, it was not awkward for them to discuss this part of Ziva's life.

"Take a wild guess." Ziva grinned up at him and he lowered his lips kiss her. "Do you ever wonder what would happen if someone had sex on an airplane?" she asked against his lips.

Tony smiled. "All the time." He traced the Heart Line on his wife's palm. "I think it would be too conspicuous for us, though."

"Oh, no," Stella sing-songed, "don't worry, dears. I wouldn't pay you any attention." She smirked over at them briefly. It was now apparent who Stella held a likeness to; Ziva was immediately reminded of her aunt, and she could tell Tony was, too. They both laughed and then fell asleep again for the next few hours of the flight.

* * *

"You may now unbuckle your seatbelts. Welcome to Aspen, Colorado," the stewardess announced, waking the newlyweds. "The temperature is a brisk twenty degrees, and there is snow in the forecast for tonight. We at JetBlue airlines hope you have a fantastic stay in the beautiful mountains of Aspen, and that you fly with us again in the future! Thank you for choosing JetBlue."

While they had been on the flight, McGee (who had flown out the night before, shortly after the reception had ended) had snuck into their deluxe suite and checked for bugs—under the guise of being a room service employee, again. He reported back to Gibbs that, when he checked for people watching through the glass, he had instead found a small camera in the lock of the window, as well as a few microphones scattered around the room. The computer geek told his boss that he had placed some of NCIS' own bugs to monitor them, in case there was need for reinforcements.

Tony and Ziva filed off of the airplane and were prompted by a text from Abby to call Gibbs. They did so and, successfully educated about McGee's findings, collected their luggage and bought a bottle of water for Ziva to take her pill. With all of their business taken care of, they picked up their rental car and drove to the hotel, where they immediately unpacked their clothes and made reservations for dinner. Now, they were working off of their own funds. But that was okay. They lived as they would on a 'real' honeymoon: large.

"It is a beautiful room," Ziva commented, drawing half of the curtains aside and peering out the window. "The view is gorgeous."

Tony stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her back into him. "Yeah, tell me about it." He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck. "Do we have dinner reservations?" he asked, rubbing her stomach absentmindedly.

"First of all," Ziva murmured, "what are you doing?" Her partner's hand flew from her stomach and rested on her hip. "Better…Anyway, yes, we do. Why?" He didn't answer her question and she assumed she knew why he had asked in the first place. "I might not be ready."

"For what?"

She turned to face him and wrapped her arms around his neck, the low light of the chandelier hanging from the ceiling reflecting off of the diamond of her ring brilliantly. "You know 'for what'."

"Ziva." Tony's firm tone commanded her attention, although it was so soft. He clicked the remote of the stereo and played some music over them. "Regardless of whether we actually have sex or not, we need to at least pretend to. We don't know what's going on outside these walls, okay?" He pulled her close, into a hug. "I won't make you do anything you don't want to do. I promise." She nodded into his chest. "So, when are the reservations for?"

Ziva's answer was muffled by his shirt. She could have said 'seven' or 'eleven' or even 'ten'. "Repeat that, sweetheart?" Tony asked. Ziva pulled her face away from his left pectoral and told him that dinner was reserved for seven that evening. He nodded, and both of them turned some music on to accompany their changing into dinner clothes. It was already six, and they both wanted showers.

They naturally decided to give whoever was watching their room—if anyone was—a bit of a mystery, and went into the bathroom together. They didn't shower at the same time, though. Ziva showered quickly and then let Tony do so while she did her makeup and changed. She quickly stole to the closet and picked her dress for the evening. It was a floor-length, slightly tiered, and made of a shimmery, Kelly green satin. It clung to the right spots, skimmed over the bad ones, and made her eyes sparkle (while adding a glow to her skin that she knew Tony would never be able to neglect).

And he, of course, chose a rather neutral, charcoal suit, without a tie. The light blue of his shirt made his eyes look ridiculously blue, in a good way. Ziva noticed it immediately when he walked out. She also noticed his eyes grazing over her body.

What she had bought in Israel might in fact come in handy that night.

* * *

Dinner was delicious, and the dining room was beautiful—and very busy. This didn't deter Ziva and Tony, however. The moment they got back, they took one look at each other and then crashed together. Tugging at each other's clothes, fighting with buttons, warring with a fiery passion that had built up over the course of dessert. Somehow, the taste of the deep, rich chocolate torte still lingered on Ziva's tongue, and she could taste the simple vanilla of Tony's crème brulée on his lips. These negligible details did nothing more than propel the release of their inhibitions, and within a few minutes, Ziva's legs were around Tony's shirtless waist, and he was walking toward the bed, supporting his partner's body with two hands on her backside.

With a flick of his wrist and the press of a button, soft rock music filtered through the speakers and Ziva stopped kissing him long enough to ask, "Real or fake?"

Tony shifted his 'wife's' weight onto one arm and reached a hand into his pocket, searching for that foil-wrapped packet he'd stowed there 'just in case'. His emotions were soaring, and he felt like he was crossing a river using stepping stones. One stone to the next, just hopping merrily. Until he got to the crocodile that had silver scales and commanding blue eyes. Until the crocodile said 'Hell, no, you can't. I have a rule about that.'

Ziva, too, saw that crocodile, but knew she could fight it—knew she _had_ to fight it. The icy stare did nothing to phase her and a moment later, she had her lips firmly planted on his, her fingers playing with the soft hairs on the back of Tony's head. It was as though they were thinking the same thought: _Well, we _are_ married, so legally we're allowed to do this. Legally, he can't do anything _to_ us, so there._

There was a gentle—but intense—fervor in their movements as Tony's dress pants fell to the floor and he carefully lowered Ziva onto the bed, letting her do what she wanted with her own clothes.

And when they slipped under the covers, the rest was history…

* * *

"Did we really just…?" Ziva asked, propping herself up on one elbow. She traced the line down the center of his chest, toying with the scattered chest hairs. She didn't know it, but each time she did, Tony just wanted to go back for another round. He nodded, looking up at her thoughtfully. "What?"

He hesitated, staring at the ceiling in an attempt to calm his reeling mind, before murmuring, "Was it…okay? You wanted it, right?" Tony cleared his throat. "I didn't want to pressure you. You and I…Israel…You wanted it, right?" he repeated.

Ziva's brow furrowed for a split second. "Of course, I did, Tony." She lowered her head to kiss him, and laughed when he slid his tongue in her mouth. She pulled back. "_No_, Tony. Stop that." She felt pressure against her hip and softly tapped his cheek with her palm.

"Wasn't my knee." There was a gleam to his eyes, more mischievous than most days, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her over on top of him. "Not this time."

"It was not your knee _last _time, either, as I recall." The Israeli curled up on his chest. "Tony?"

"Yeah, Zeev," he whispered. It wasn't a question, but a plea for her to continue.

She took a while to answer. Finally, she pressed her lips to the defined dip, at the base of his throat, and said, "I love you."

"I love you, too, Ziva." And it wasn't just a game to him anymore. It wasn't just an assignment.

But, then again, it never had been.

* * *

Abby pointed at the screen accusingly. "They were _not_ faking," she told McGee. "You can't fake it _that_ well. I'll bet you fifty bucks they just did it. For _real_."

"Abby," the computer nerd said with insistence etched across his face, "this is _just_ an assignment. They wouldn't actually do it. They didn't do it during the other one, they didn't do it in France, and they haven't done it now." Setting his jaw, he murmured, "I'll bet you fifty dollars they _didn't_ do it." He secretly hoped they hadn't; if he found out his teammates really _had_ done it, he would probably have to rip his eyeballs out. It would be disturbing and wrong to discover he had just watched his partners doing such an intimate and private act.

A soft cough behind them startled Abby and she nearly dropped her Caf-Pow! on the MTAC floor. "Oh, hi, Gibbs!"

She only received an icy stare. "What didn't who do?" the Silver Fox demanded, sweeping down the ramp and standing in front of the screen. He watched Ziva stroke Tony's chest. He watched Tony's hand slip beneath the covers of the bed. He watched with distaste, but also a sense of shame. How he could have kept them apart for so long was beyond him. If they still had feelings for each other after nearly six years of working on the same team (and several extremely personal betrayals), who was he to prevent that?

Jenny was gone. If he had just grown a pair and made it official, she might not have died. Then, the team wouldn't have been split up; Davíd wouldn't have had to go back to Israel and therefore wouldn't have been re-exposed and prompted to fall in love with that Rivkin slime-ball; DiNozzo wouldn't have had to spend all that time on the ship—and (most importantly) _the team wouldn't have been split up_.

He was brought back to the present by Abby slurping on her straw; her Caf-Pow! 'big gulp' was empty. "Can I get an answer?" Gibbs bit out, his temper flaring. Not at his forensic scientist and field agent, of course; at _himself_ for not seeing this sooner. "Somebody?"

"Right, boss," McGee piped up, glancing at Abby. "Tony and Ziva just pretended to have sex." The forensic scientist smirked. "Whoever else has surveillance on them definitely got a show. We've got two nights until the pattern should repeat itself." Gibbs arched an eyebrow. "Well—uh—you know, Boss, how the other three murders all occurred on the third night of the couples' honeymoon? Well...in two days, it'll be Tony and Ziva's third night."

Gibbs nodded and pressed the button that allowed him to speak to Tony's ear-whig. "Duh-Nozzo."

Tony jumped a bit. "Yeah, Boss? he asked, relaxing back down onto the mattress. Ziva dipped her head and began nipping at his neck. "Zeev, stop," the Senior Field Agent moaned, his hand again dipping beneath the covers. And then, Ziva giggled. _Giggled_.

Gibbs had seen—and heard—enough. "Duh-Nozzo! Keep it in your pants!"

"Right, boss…"

"Keep. Them. _Zipped_."

"Yeah."

"You understand me, right? Am I clear?"

"Crystal. Hey, Ziva, _stop_." Tony emitted a soft chuckle. There was something mischievous to his laugh that made Gibbs cringe.

"Hey!" the former-Marine snapped. "You two, knock it off! This isn't a goddamn porno." With that, he shut off the intercom and stormed from the room.

Abby turned to McGee, her lips drawn to one side of her face in a worried or concerned pout. The computer nerd mirrored her expression. "What are you thinking, Abby?"

The Goth girl shrugged her shoulders. "That Tony and Ziva would make a hot porno…"


	5. As Long As You're Mine

_A/N: Hello...To start off with, I'm going to apologise profusely and sincerely for my long hiatus from . I'm really, really, really, really sorry. College took control of my life. And now I'm vacationing for Spring Break, so yaknow. it's just been a struggle to find time to write. But, here it is. May I just say that this a **huge** catalyst behind this story is the evolution of EJ? Yeah. I don't like her. Or Ray. So, if you don't like Tiva, don't read this. **::smiles slyly::** Because, of course, this IS a wedding fic, between Tony and Ziva. I don't mean to be a pain, but if you don't like it, please don't review. If anything confuses you, please feel free to contact me. I couldn't do any of this without my fantabulous beta **surferdude8225**. Go ahead and read now..._

_**Disclaimer:** Yeah, yeah, I don't own this or that or really anything except for the plot line. Although, I do wish DBP would be all, "Oh, hey, that's cool, let's buy it from Kat" and then proceed to do so, so that the very last NCIS episode EVER (which hopefully won't be for a long, long, loonnnggg time, duh!) will be absolutely awesome. That was my rant for the day. Anywho, I own the characters you don't recognize. Yuppppp. **::gestures for you to read::** What're you doing reading my disclaimer anyway, buddy? You already KNOW what I do and don't own!  
_

* * *

Ziva woke up around four the next morning to find Tony gone. Not necessarily gone, but she knew he wasn't in the bed. The characteristic dip on his side of the mattress was absent, as well as the warmth he had radiated onto her as they had slept. She lifted herself up onto one elbow, hugging the sheets to her chest and looking around in confusion. "Tony?" she murmured, rubbing the sleep from her left eye. Her partner's head popped out from the bathroom.

"Yeah?" he said with a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. A fine line of toothpaste and drool trailed down his chin, and he caught it with his hand. "Thorry…" Tony mumbled, making a face of discontent when Ziva giggled at him. "What?"

She shook her head. "I was just wondering where you went." Although she was inside, listening to the howling wind outside the expansive glass windows of their suite made her shiver. "The bed was cold."

Tony grinned at her, then quickly ducked back into the bathroom to spit and rinse his mouth before sauntering over to the bed. Ziva saw that he wasn't wearing anything but a terrycloth bathrobe, and smirked, knowing what was coming to her.

"Really, Tony?" she murmured. "So early in the morning?" Tony bent one knee into the mattress and lowered himself to rest above her. Ziva chuckled, lacing her arms around Tony's head. "No waiting with you, hmm?" She couldn't say much more, of course, as her partner's lips made their slow, tantalizing way down her throat.

The Senior Field Agent growled softly, drawing a purr from deep within his new 'wife'. He didn't care if they actually slept together. No, it was about the case. Purely about the case. _It's about the case, right?_ No, it wasn't. The only thing on Tony's mind—and he assumed the same thing was on Ziva's—was adoring the only woman in his life. He wanted to enjoy his honeymoon, and he truly was, but he couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched.

Even as he shed his bathrobe, and Ziva flipped him over so he was lying on the bed, neither could deny the forces outside nor the pressure between them. Yes, they wanted to do things to each other that would be better left undone, but they also had a fine sense of respect for their boss. While it spurred rebellion in their cores, it also lit a flame of guilt.

Which was quickly squelched when Ziva's hand slipped down Tony's abdomen.

* * *

"_See_, McGee?" Abby squealed, not entirely sure the computer geek was even in the room. "They're doing it. They are _so_ doing it. You can't fake a hand-job; that's just … that's just wrong, and sick. You either do it or you don't! See, McGee? They're _doing it_!" The Goth jumped up and down. "Hm…I think I've had a bit too much Caf-Pow!…"

Gibbs rested his hands on the forensic scientist's shoulders and murmured in her ear, "Yup, but what've you got for _me_, Abs?" He refused to even look at the screen. It sickened him, the thought of watching his two best agents do such private things on screen. Although, he supposed it wasn't the first time it had happened. He couldn't be sure that they'd kept it clean as assassins, and he couldn't even fathom the weakest guess at what surpassed the summer after her first year at NCIS. Gibbs was at a loss. He could fire them, and risk the case, or he could let them keep going at it, and risk their dignity.

Abby flipped a curled pigtail over her shoulder and turned to look at Gibbs. "I don't have anything for you, Gibbs. You should know that." The Silver Fox stared at her. "Oh, come on, Gibbs. You didn't actually think I didn't have _anything_ for you, did you?" She skipped over to the laptop that she'd brought with her. "There's a pattern, Gibbs."

"A pattern?" he repeated, his blue eyes piercing into her green irises. "What kind of 'pattern'?"

She typed madly on her computer. "Alright, so, I went to the hotel's website. Apparently, they've got this amazing Honeymoon Package." Abby smirked but didn't look up at Gibbs as she murmured, "I'm sure you know enough about honeymoons, huh?"

Gibbs just shook his head, not hiding the sparkle in his eyes. "What about the package, Abby?"

"It's got a full spa day for the happy couple, a five course dinner, open bar, horse rental, and lift passes…" she read. "And it's only for about five-hundred dollars, which is a _great_ deal…" Shaking her head, Abby continued, "Each of the three couples purchased this package."

"But it's a honeymoon," her boss muttered. "Doesn't every bride and groom do it?"

Abby stood and thrust her laptop toward him. "No, Gibbs, not _every_ couple is fortunate enough to have five Ben Franklins at their disposal." Placing a hand on her hip, she said, "Anyway, they all took advantage of this thing. Should I tell Tony and Ziva to buy it, too?"

"Yeah," Gibbs said, walking out. Before he left the room, he made a point of tossing his coffee cup, still half-full, in the trash.

* * *

"Sweetheart?" Ziva purred, idly tracing hearts on the apex of Tony's chest. He flexed, as if instinctively, and she decided not to stop. "Have you ever wanted to go to a spa?" This drew a raspy laugh from her new 'husband'. "What?"

Tony rolled over. "Well, love, quite frankly, you don't seem like the spa-going type." Wrapping an arm around her, somewhat possessively while still being relaxed, he continued, "Besides, what would we do there that's more fun than what we could do here?" The Senior Field Agent planted gentle kisses down Ziva's neck, starting below her ear and ending at her collarbone.

A screech near his eardrum sent a shock down his spine, rendering him completely rigid. "Tony," Abby's voice blared into his ear, "Gibbs wants you and Ziva to purchase the Honeymoon Dream Package from the spa."

Ziva murmured on top of her, "Tony, it would be so much fun…and a fantastic way to start off this marriage."

Abby jumped in again. "All three of the couples went to the spa using this package. Included is a candlelit dinner for two in the Grand Ballroom, after an all-day pampering session at the spa." She gave him a moment to absorb the information. "Mud-baths, couples' massages, and a full day of lounging at the Deluxe Springs, Tony. Come on."

In Ziva's ear, Tony whispered, "As you wish," before latching onto her earlobe with a soft bite.

* * *

Abby smirked in front of the screen, glad that neither Vance nor Gibbs was in the room at that moment. She didn't specifically _like_ watching Tony and Ziva do the dirty onscreen, but she was ecstatic that this could quite possibly be the stepping stone between their flirty 'professional' relationship (which included many dates with each other on the side), and their declaring their love to each other for all eternity.

That, the Goth had decided, was only a short ways away, now that they were 'married'. Legally, too! That meant that, technically, after the assignment was over, they could just fail to destroy the marriage license, and stay married. She had seen the way her colleagues regarded each other, and therefore knew the whole 'staying married' business wouldn't be much of a problem.

"Didja tell them?" McGee asked nervously, breaking Abby out of her silent scheming. She nodded. "So they're going to go to the spa?" Again, Abby jerked her head. "How's Tony feel about that?"

The forensic scientist shrugged. "He's probably just wishing that the mud bath included a chick-fight for free."

* * *

"Rise and shine!" Tony proclaimed around two that afternoon. "We're going to the pool."

Ziva groaned and held onto the blankets that her partner was fervently trying to pull off of her. "Do you _know_ what the temperature is out there?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, but it doesn't matter. Once you're in the water, you're fine."

"It's not the water that I am afraid of," the former-Israeli snapped. "Rather, the walk there and back."

Tony looked dejected. "That's what I'm here for. Cuddling along the way." He carried over a mug of steaming chai tea for his bride, and perched himself on the edge of the bed.

She took a grateful sip and laced her fingers with his. "But," Ziva murmured, looking up at him through her eyelashes, "can we not cuddle…here?"

The Senior Field Agent knew what she was up to, and smirked, his green eyes sparkling with a mischief that rivaled his partner's. "_Zee-vah_, do you realize how many times we've consummated our marriage, just over the past day and a half?"

The younger agent shook her head. "I don't know. A few times?"

Tony let out a bark of laughter through a wide grin. "Yeah, if 'a few times' means fifteen."

"You counted?"

"It's what I do. Anyway, I think we need a break. Marriage isn't just about sex, you know." His tone had quickly grown serious, his voice husky but compassionate. "I love you, Zeev, but you—no, _we_—need a new hobby." Tony winked. "Tomorrow we get an entire day devoted to rejuvenation, so let's go skiing or sledding, or maybe—"

Ziva's eyes lit up. Together, they cried, "_Snow angels_!" And somehow, even though Ziva had to get completely dressed, she made it out the door long before her husband.

* * *

"Hi, Abby!" Ziva's voice filtered through the receiver of Abby's phone. "I just wanted to check in with you."

Abby snorted. "It's your honeymoon, Ziva. What do you need to check in with _me_ for?" Taking a long gulp of Caf-Pow!, the forensic scientist's legs pumped back and forth as she sat on the stool. "Anything new and exciting?" _Like, maybe, a baby on the way? No, what am I thinking? Too soon for baby Tivas! Well, 'Tova' sounds more fitting, actually, since it would be a more proper blending of the—Focus, Sciuto, focus!_ "Other than you two banging like rabbits, that is."

She could hear the confusion in Ziva's voice as the other woman said, "When do…rabbits…'bang'?" It took a few minutes, but finally, the newly-naturalized American said, "Oh! Abby, that is disgusting!" Both laughed. Hard. "Nothing, really. We just came back inside from spending some time in the snow, and we are going to the spa tomorrow. I am surprised I was able to convince Tony to agree to it…"

"Oh, yeah?" Abby asked, bored with the topic. She had spent the past two days fumbling through the room-credit receipts of the three couples, trying to find similarities. And now that she had found this about the spa, she had decided she would never want to go to the spa again. Could it have been a spa associate who had committed the three murders? None of the couples had anything to do with each other, as far as the Military-Boot-Clad girl could tell, and therefore it had to be someone on the inside.

Like at the spa, or the bar, or the grand dining room, or even the general concierge and check-in services. There were so many possibilities, and so little time. The next day would be the epic 'third night of honeymoon' for Tony and Ziva, equally fun and dangerous. A spa day, five course dinner, and room service all night for champagne and snacks…and possibly an attack. They were sitting ducks.

McGee, Gibbs, and Agent Folley (from a few cubicles over) had flown out to Aspen to provide backup if necessary for the team members. "Call us when you find _anything_, Abs," the Silver Fox had made a point of saying, before pecking her cheek, squeezing her close for a moment, and then sweeping from the room with his characteristic, lengthy strides. Abby would be the first to admit that she already missed her boys. (Timmy and Gibbs, of course; Folley creeped her out.)

Ziva's hushed voice brought her back to present. "Abby, I am seeing a completely different side of Tony."

"How do you mean?" Taking a long sip of Caf-Pow!, Abby sighed.

It almost matched Ziva's as the other woman murmured, "He has not spoken of intimacy or childish things for the past two days, and after the wedding, we literally just watched a movie and fell asleep. And just now, he suggested we go make snow angels." There was a long pause on the line. "Tony is being an absolute…gentleman."

Abby nearly choked on her drink. "_Duh_!" she blurted. "It's Special Agent Anthony David DiNozzo, Ziva; DiNozzos are gentlemen! Remember Daddy DiNozzo?"

"Yes, of course, I do, but—"

"Then you agree that with a charmer like him, Tony couldn't have fallen far from the tree."

"I thought the expression was 'from the bush'…" Ziva said, baffled. "Anyway, I know that, but you have to see that whenever Tony and I are alone, he is usually making sexist or sexually-centered comments…"

The Goth woman had to hold back a snort. "Okay, seriously, Ziva? When are you going to learn that things are _different_ when it comes to you and Tony?" She could tell the other woman wasn't following. "Tony and you are like caffeine and I; we're perfect together, and so are you. It just…" Abby paused, trying to think of the right words. "I mean, yeah, it's just taking a while for you two to figure it out."

Ziva didn't say anything for a while, until finally, she simply stated, "I know." No argument, no rebuttal, no refuting the obvious. She just said, 'I know'. And Abby knew she did, because otherwise, there wouldn't have been a conversation in the first place.

* * *

"That makes eighteen times in the past two days," Tony said, panting softly. A thin layer of sweat beaded on his forehead, creating a broad sheen across his face. He pressed his lips to the crook of her neck, trailing butterfly kisses down her right shoulder and arm.

Ziva yawned, wiping sweat from her own brow. "Why do you count?"

He shrugged and thought for several long minutes. "I dunno," he finally said. "I guess I just like knowing how many times I've felt…"

"Horny? Hot?" she suggested, running her fingers through his hair. He shook his head.

"No, I was thinking more along the lines of 'whole'. From sex, that is. It doesn't happen that way for me much." Tony switched sides and continued his ministrations down her left side.

"Doesn't it get boring, Tony?" she asked. "I mean, you can only sleep with someone so many times before it all becomes commonplace."

Nipping at her skin, he chuckled. "As much as I like your adventurous side, Zeev, why fix something when it's not broken?" Tony planted a kiss on her lips and took her face in his hands. "You are beautiful, and amazing, and honestly? I've never felt this close to a woman before. Never."

Ziva's eyes melted before him. "Well…" Then she frowned, and Tony half-expected her to roll away from him before she wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling his warm body closer to hers. "Let us make it nineteen, hmm?" Winking, Tony felt his heart-rate quicken.

And for the four-thousand-three-hundred-and-twentieth time in the past seventy-two hours, Tony DiNozzo had butterflies.

* * *

"What're they doin' now, Howie?" a raspy voice muttered. There was an accent on it—a strong, Brooklyn accent—that emphasized a possible connection to organized crime. "Still bumpin' skins?"

"Yeah, fer th'eightieth time, Al," the man named Howie replied, in more of a Southern twang. "Ah swear, Al, these people don't have no self-discipline. Nymphos."

Al crossed the room to his side. "They're honeymooners. Get over it. You're just jealous you ain't getting any." Both men laughed, a haughty grin planted on both of their faces, until Howie caught something in the telescope. "What? What's wrong now?"

"Nothin's wrong, Al. Have y'seen this chick's body? Ah mean, _damn_." His mouth hung open, so far that a rather large dragonfly could have flown through his lips and down his throat. "They don't make women like that down in Louisiana, Al."

The other man let out a howl. "Sure they do, Howie. Just not the kind who like dogs like you."

"Just 'cause Ah'm not as good-lookin' as this sap, doesn't mean Ah'm not able to get a chick t'like me, you em-effer," Howie snapped, shooting Al a glare. "Besides, this ain't about gettin' women; this is about gettin' cash, and after this, we'll be set for years and years." The Louisianan heard a click behind him and started, thinking it was a gun.

"What the hell are you doing?" Al shouted. "I'm taking a damn picture. Which is what _you're_ supposed to be doing, you imbecile!"

"Sorry, boss," Howie said, and ripped the camera from Al's hands.

* * *

"Sorry, boss," McGee murmured, apologizing for the fourth time that hour. "I don't know what I was thinking when I—"

Gibbs had been walking away from the tech-geek, but wheeled around and got in the younger man's face. "No, you know what, McGee? I'll tell you what you were thinking. Would you like that?" McGee nodded sheepishly. "_You weren't thinking_!"

"I know, boss. I'm an idiot."

The older agent glared. "Not quite the word I woulda used, but yeah, that'll work." With a pissed-off half-smile, Gibbs fled the room in search of more coffee.

Tim wasn't sure what had happened. One minute, he'd had a perfect camera angle into Tony and Ziva's suite. Not only could a person see the bed, the nook, _and_ the bathroom (when the door was open), they could see a reflection in the mirror above the bed of the other part of the room. This gave them easy surveillance of a possible attack. Look in the mirror, see people coming, and get down there as fast as you could. Even Gibbs agreed that it was foolproof (or as foolproof as Gibbs could think anything was).

Somewhere along the line, however, wires must have been crossed, because now all McGee had was a constant stream of the room across from theirs. It was essentially identical to his partners'. When a guy had walked into the room and started walking around, everyone had gone into stealth mode; Tony and Ziva had avoided that corridor (vowing to stay in the hot tub in each other's arms for as long as they saw fit) and Gibbs and Agent Folley had confronted him. They had found a man named Howie, walking around in a towel, water dripping from his hair.

And then the towel had dropped. Folley, whose sexuality was a mystery to most everyone at NCIS already, was dumbstruck and Gibbs had grimaced. McGee had seen it all on the big screen, and had immediately known his fatal error. When he checked the computer, though, everything had been in order. Room four-oh-one, West Wing, right side of the hallway. Yet, for some reason, the track only wanted to film room four-oh-two, and that was a problem—a big problem.

He knew that if he didn't fix it quickly, before the next evening, Tony and Ziva's lives were in major danger.

* * *

"Tony, can you make me some coffee?" Ziva asked, eyeing Tony's once again bathrobe-wrapped body. "Decaf, if available."

He nodded, smiling at her. It was that silly little half-smile that often drove her insane, but now she found it endearing. Tony's eyes sparkled like blue-green diamonds, those little gems that women had a difficult time resisting. And she could see why. Even now as she lay there, he was working his magic on her and he didn't even know it.

"Since when are there _Keurig_s in hotel rooms, eh?" Tony asked, already filling her mug with fresh coffee. "Pumpkin spice creamer and half a _Truvía_, right?" He knew exactly what she wanted, which warmed Ziva's heart. He carried the mug over to her and made sure she had a firm grip on the ceramic before letting go. "Ohh, so _good_…"

Ziva nodded. "Yes, it is. Thank you." She watched her partner walk around the bed, grab the remote from the entertainment system, and climb in next to her. The Israeli set her cup on the bedside table and hoisted herself into his lap. "What movie are we watching?"

"I surfed the channels. We have an International Movie network…" Tony wrapped his arms around her body, not letting go of his mug. "_400 Blows_ is on, and if you haven't seen it, you are certainly missing out on _the_ greatest coming-of-age film ever produced, Mrs. DiNozzo."

The former Mossad liaison frowned. "I have not seen it, no…"

His mouth hung open. "What?" Snatching up the remote from the bed next to his leg, Tony hit 'pause' and reveled in the fact he could pause real-time television. Sometimes he wished he could do that with his life. "Ziva-freaking-Davíd-DiNozzo, never having seen one of the greatest French films ever?" Ziva shook her head. "Not possible. Settle in, and watch." He handed her the coffee mug she had set on the side table and let her prop it on his thigh.

Halfway through the film, Ziva felt Tony playing with one of the curls she had tossed over her shoulder. "Hey," she murmured, taking his hand in hers. "No playing with my hair." She would never tell him that she loved it. "_Je t'aime_."

"I don't really speak French," Tony said, muffled by his planting a kiss on the crown of her head. "But I know what that means, and the same goes for you." He shifted under her and she pulled her knees up so she lay cradled in his arms.

By the time the film was over, Ziva felt confused as to whether she should be near tears or smiling. All she could think to say was, "What an intricate movie…"

"Yeah," he replied, "it is. Did you, by any chance, catch the moments where Antoine Doinel was put in situations that forced him to grow up faster than he was ready?" She turned to look at him. "It's okay if you didn't. I've seen _400 Blows_ about fifty times, so I've got the advantage." Ziva stuck her tongue out at him and then turned back around to watch the credits.

She decided not to tell him he gave her butterflies, and that for the past eighty-six hours, he'd been the cause of four-thousand-four-hundred-and-seventy swarms of butterflies taking flight in her stomach. Ziva figured that if he loved her, he would know. Because every time he was lying next to her, she felt his tummy flutter. And it made her feel so incredibly at home that she wished she weren't just on another assignment.

* * *

_A/N: Yes? No? Woo! Yeahhhhh. Okay, I'm going to go finish chapter six. Hope you liked it! -Kathryn_


	6. Beauty from Pain

_A/N: Well, hello. It's only been, what, a few days? I don't have a witty Author's Note tonight, unfortunately..Read on! Enjoy!_

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own Back to the Future. In fact, I don't really care for the movies. I know, I know, that's a real travesty, but I don't wanna hear it. I hear it enough from my father. Whom I also don't own. However, I do own this story line. And Marty. Yupp...  
_

* * *

The next day—if not already stressful enough—opened with even more drama. "Whatcha got for me, Abs?" Gibbs asked, striding over to the forensic scientist's desk. The woman in question sat there, ear-bud headphones stuck in her ears, and she seemed to be concentrating on something. Her forehead creased with either anticipation or worry, and the former-Marine frowned nervously. "Abby?" he asked, tugging on one of the buds.

Abby jumped and turned toward him. "Gibbs!"

"Yeah…" The silver-haired man stooped to her level. "You okay?"

It was obviously a bad decision on his part to be so low in comparison to the Goth, because she shot to her feet so fast that he was nearly shoved over onto the floor. "Sorry, Gibbs, but no, I'm not 'okay'." Panic rose in her voice as she typed madly on her keyboard. "You don't understand, Gibbs. Today is the day. Tonight, Tony and Ziva could die. And I know you're not happy with McGee right now, but since he fixed the feeds, I'm trusting him. I just don't trust myself, Gibbs. This isn't _good_."

Gibbs slowly made his way to his feet and met her at the table. "Why wouldn't you trust yourself?"

"Because I missed something very, very important in the tox-screen from the sample Ducky sent me, Gibbs!" Abby wailed, spinning around and burying her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, a fatherly gesture, and kissed her forehead.

"What did you miss, Abs?" he asked, rocking her back and forth gently.

"All three wives were given rohypnol." She sniffed and backed up, looking up at Gibbs guiltily.

Gibbs frowned. "They were all roofied." He didn't need to be told twice what that was, even if half the time he had no idea what chemicals' names meant. "How'd it happen?"

"I don't know, because there was hardly any alcohol in their systems and they didn't stick around to eat dinner."

The Silver Fox nodded, staring at her with piercing blue eyes. "You think it happened at the spa?" Abby shrugged. "Well, where do you think it happened?"

"It could've happened _anywhere_," she explained. "That's the problem, Gibbs! Ziva is literally a sitting duck, and not only does she not know it, she doesn't know what 'sitting duck' means!" Once again, Abby threw herself into Gibbs' chest. "They're gonna die, and it's all my fault! Although, I suppose I couldn't tell, because the levels of the rohypnol were so low that it was pretty negligible," she backtracked. "But I'm a forensic scientist! I should've caught it! How could I be so—"

Gibbs held her away from him, staring into her eyes. "People make mistakes," he said softly. "Tell `em to be careful." That was all she could do now.

Abby nodded. "Yes, Gibbs," she murmured, and then put on her headset.

* * *

"What are you saying?" Ziva asked, alertly looking around the room. Her eyes finally landed on Tony, who reached out and took her hand. "Am I not supposed to go anywhere or do anything?" Tony shrugged, as if saying he didn't care.

There was a long pause before Abby finally said, "No; Gibbs said to act as if you don't know anything, but for Tony to stay alert and make sure he has your back at all times." Abby sighed. "I guess you should just, um, order whatever you want, but be extra careful how much you consume. Okay?"

"Okay," the other woman replied, and she heard a click in her ear. "Tony, we should go check-in to our appointments…" Ziva sighed.

"What's wrong? Aren't you excited?" Tony raised a hand to softly touch his partner's face. "I thought you liked this kind of stuff."

"I do." And she did, Ziva told herself, but there was that unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her she was in danger. She wasn't _scared_, per se, but she certainly wasn't at ease. And besides that fact, she had scars on several parts of her body that would be revealed to a stranger. Tony was one thing; not only had they been sleeping together since Chanukah, but they were also now _married_. She could handle him, because she knew him and he had proven that he cared about her.

But some random spa technician, who didn't know her story and would probably assume the worst in Tony? Ziva didn't know if she could handle that.

She gave him an appreciative kiss when he snaked an arm around her waist and murmured, "What are we signed up for, _je t'aime_?"

"It is a surprise," Ziva whispered before standing and retrieving a sarong from a drawer in the bureau across from the bed. Tony quirked an eyebrow and followed her into the bathroom. "What?"

"What kind of surprise?" he asked, leaning against the door. "Mud baths? Because I'm not sure I'm really into swimming in—"

"Mostly massages," she interrupted. "The spa is one of the leading sports' therapy clinics in the country, and with your knee and back the way they are, I thought this may be a good opportunity for you to heal." As Ziva wrapped the sarong low around her waist, she continued, "And then you are getting a 'gentleman's facial' as I become a 'pampered princess'. I do not know what those mean, but I thought it was fitting." And they could be done in the same room, so no one would have the opportunity to divide and conquer the team.

Tony nodded. "A gentleman's facial. Never had one, but one of my friends did once and said it was pretty amazing." He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I'll be out there when you're ready."

She didn't have the heart to tell him that she didn't know if she'd ever be ready.

* * *

"Allo, and velcome to ze spa at `Otel Jerome," a petite, European woman greeted them from the double doors at the top of a short set of stairs. "I am Frena. You are Tony and Zi-_vah_?"

Ziva smiled warmly. "Yes," she murmured. "Are we too early?" The clock above the woman's head read eight-thirty; their appointments had been made for nine.

"No, no! We `ave a policy zat guests must be here at least fifteen minutes before zer appointments, so you are just in time."

"Oh, good!" Tony blurted, grinning. "Is this considered checking in?" The lady nodded. "Excellent. Where do we go from here?"

Frena gestured for them to follow her up the stairs. "On your left is ze lounge. `Owever, our first stop is ze locker room." They went down another flight of stairs to a small room on the right. "Zis is our couples' locker room. On ze bench, you vill find two robes and two pairs of sandals." She began to close the door. "Ven you are finished, I vil meet you by the stairs. Sank you!" Tony and Ziva were then alone.

The Senior Field Agent quickly took out his 'cell phone', or, rather, the de-bugger that looked like his cell phone, and swept the room. When they were certain it was clear, they changed into their bathrobes and discussed how the day would pass. Tony would keep an eye on Ziva, playing the observant husband, while she just relaxed and enjoyed herself as a princess would.

They filed out of the bathroom and met Frena at the steps, before following her up to the lounge. "Helene and Arto vil meet you shortly for your massages." She disappeared out the door and left them in silence.

"Oh, Tony, they have lemon in their ice water…" Ziva flounced over to a table that held a large, glass dispenser and baskets of fruits and vegetables. Beside it was a _Keurig_, much like the one they had in their suite, and a small box of teas and coffees. Lined up along the table were mugs and glasses for whatever the lounge guest preferred. And Ziva preferred a little bit of everything. "Would you like any?"

Tony shook his head, watching his wife enjoy herself. "No thanks, Sweet Cheeks," he murmured and patted the oversized pillow on the bench next to him. "Come sit?" Ziva airily walked over and plopped down next to him. "It's beautiful here…"

"And very quiet," she agreed.

"We try to make it as tranquil and serene as we possibly can," a male voice said from the doorway. He was tall and muscular, with blond hair and blue eyes. Ziva let her eyes roam a bit, scanning him for any unnecessary and potentially dangerous bulges in his pockets or shirt. She saw none. "I am Arto, and I will be Ziva's masseuse. Are you Ziva?" Arto held out a hand and smiled. Even his teeth sparkled. Ziva nodded and shook his hand briefly.

A woman stepped out from behind Arto and placed a hand on Tony's upper arm. "I'm Helene, and I will be Tony's masseuse…I'm assuming that's you?" She was a perky little thing, in a sea-green tartan dress with her name embroidered on the lapel of her collar. "If you would both follow us, we will get you all set up in the massage therapy rooms." With a wide grin, Helene beckoned them down the hall and through a door on their right.

The paint was a burnt taupe, with gauzy curtains, and the room was lit only from tea-light candles that sat in tiny bowls of pebbles. A fountain sat on a small, bamboo table in the corner, water trickling down several tiers of rock. Music of wooden flutes and gentle chimes played in the background.

"It's up to you to decide which massage table you want," Arto murmured, rubbing his hands together briskly. Ziva looked at the tables. The one near the door would be better for Tony, perhaps, since he would be able to fight off an attacker of someone came through the door. Although, there was the chance that if Ziva were on the table closest to the door, she would be able to run through the door if things went south during the massages. She glanced at Tony, who just smiled.

Ziva hesitantly asked, "Tony, do you want the table near the door? I know how you don't like to feel confined…"

He shrugged. "Well, yeah, I guess that'd be okay." Untying his bathrobe, he sat on the table and ran a hand through his hair. Ziva had forgotten he was mostly unclothed under the robe itself, bar a pair of grey boxer briefs and a small gold cross that hung around his neck.

She eyed his bare chest and fought off a shudder, also disrobing and climbing up onto her own table. Ziva felt Tony's eyes gazing appreciatively over her own body. The Star of David that was suspended from her neck, its silver chain lying smoothly across her collarbone, glittered in the candlelight. The former-Israeli lifted a hand to toy with it briefly, before asking, "Should I take off my necklace?"

Arto nodded, but it was a negligible movement. "Yes, I think it would be a good idea. It's so pretty; we wouldn't want to get massage oil on it and make it tarnish." Ziva unclasped the hook and safely stowed it in the pocket of her bathrobe, which she then slung over the back of a chair. "Alright, Ziva, let's have you lay down, on your tummy, so I can cover your bum with a sheet," the blonde man dictated quietly, and she watched Tony begin to do the same at the direction of Helene.

The rest of the massage was incredible. By the end of the fifty minutes, Ziva felt like a new woman. She carried herself differently, even. The rejuvenation of the past hour had given her a new spring to her step, and she knew that after the rest of the treatments that day, she would have an entirely fresh outlook on her life.

"How was your massage, Zeev?" Tony asked, wrapping an arm around Ziva's bathrobe-clad form as they walked back down the hall to the lounge. He planted a kiss on her forehead and smiled down at her.

Ziva looked up at him, batting her eyes several times. "It was lovely," she told him. "I had booked a Ayurvedic massage, with hot oils and massages. What did you get?"

"Therapeutic," he said. "My knee's been acting up, and my back, and my radius…" Ziva glanced down at his knee, noting the fact he wasn't limping the slightest (as he usually would, although she generally counted that as his 'swagger', as Abby had called it once or twice). "Worked wonders. Helene's great." Pausing long enough to lace his fingers with hers, he then asked, "Where are we off to next?"

Taking out the sheet of paper Frena had given her at the reception desk, Ziva read it and answered him, "Our facials, and then body treatments, and then you are sitting with me while I get my nails done." She grimaced. "I tried to get something else, but I guess I'm not allowed to…"

Then again, maybe it would be nice to be treated like a princess for yet another time on her honeymoon.

* * *

"Acrylic stuff smells nasty," Tony muttered, leading Ziva down the stairs toward the reception desk to pay for their treatments. "I don't think I'll ever be able to look at fake nails again, knowing what the process of getting them entails." He whipped out his pre-paid credit card and handed it to the receptionist, and then signed the receipt. "Have a great day," he told the employees with a smile, before swinging Ziva up into his arms.

There was a spring to his step that he hadn't had before, without a pain in his body (except that manly ache he had for Ziva that had nothing to do with pulled muscles or old injuries). His wife looked amazing, and although he knew he shouldn't be calling her his 'wife', even in his most private thoughts, since it wasn't _real_, he couldn't help it. He wanted this, more than anything else in the world. It wasn't just what he wanted; he _needed_ it.

"I know it does," Ziva said, pulling Tony out of his thoughts. "I do not like having acrylic nails. Trust me. I feel kind of helpless." She ran a thumb over his knuckles, which sent a shiver down his spine. "And now we go change for dinner and see if I can put on makeup with my new claws…"

A thought struck Tony, then. It wasn't brilliant, but it wasn't entirely stupid, either. "Zeev, I know this is going to sound weird, but maybe…_I_ could help." The Senior Field Agent winced and refused to make eye contact with her. "I mean, if you just…tell me what to do, it can't be too hard, can it?" Ziva chuckled and shook her head.

"We'll see," she said, and when they got back to their suite, Tony saw that it really _was_ more difficult than he ever could have expected. She led him, step by step, and taught him how to apply her makeup, but it took a full hour for him to finish when it normally took her a little under fifteen minutes. In the end, however, it did look okay. Ziva paired it with a black dress; it was form-fitted in the bodice, and poofy tulle from the waist down. The skirt was studded with silver rhinestones, and fell to the just below the knee. With silver jewelry (the Star of David included) and matching sandal-heels, she felt like a princess.

At least, Tony thought she looked the part. He had decided on wearing a simple sea-green striped shirt and slightly aged blue jeans, with a pair of brown dress shoes. There wasn't a tie; he figured it would be a bit much, given the fact he wanted Ziva to shine.

"You look beautiful," he said softly, pulling her close to his side as they walked down the corridor. Tony kissed her cheek, his lips grazing her ear, and smiled down at her.

Ziva shrugged. "You do not look half-bad yourself." He was almost offended until he saw the sarcastic gleam to her eyes. "Ready for dinner?"

"Yes! I'm _starving_. Have I eaten today?" Tony wondered aloud, and then remembered that he had made himself toast for breakfast and quickly shook his head. "Never mind. Anyway, are you getting anything from the bar?" He knew that, technically, Ziva had to get something. And that he had to have her back. And that if something happened, he had to get her back to the hotel room as quickly as possible to protect her. The likelihood of an ambush was hazy at this point, but Tony didn't want to take any chances.

"I think I will get a mojito," Ziva answered, nodding. She sought out his hand and laced her fingers with his, squeezing gently. "Anything for you, _nechama sheli_?" Tony's heart fluttered from the lightness of her voice as she spoke her Hebrew vowels. He could assume that it meant the same as 'mon amour', but he wanted to hear to say it.

"Probably not. What does _'nechama sheli'_ mean?"

Ziva didn't squirm, frown, or anything like that. She looked up at him, smiled, and said softly, "Loosely, it means 'my beloved'."

"What does it mean literally?" Tony played with Ziva's engagement ring, spinning it around her finger.

She thought for a moment. "Soul mate."

Tony nodded. Under his breath, he repeated, "_Nechama sheli._ Soul mate." Ziva playfully bounced off of his side and laughed. "Do I need more throat in that? _Nech-ch-ch-ama sheli_. Is that better?"

She burst into soft giggles, burying her face in his shoulder. They stopped walking and Tony pulled her into his chest, holding her there in a more-than-chaste hug. After a lengthy silence, Ziva murmured, "You have heard what is said about soul mates, yes?" He shook his head. "A man and his wife have connected souls. They are like…tree branches. Always connected."

"Do you think our souls are connected, Zeev?" Tony's voice had turned husky and he cursed himself for not being able to control his emotions.

He was very surprised when she nodded against him and said, "Yes."

* * *

"A mint mojito, please," Ziva murmured, handing two dollar bills to the bartender. The man behind the counter nodded, took them, and began tending to her drink, while the former-Israeli sat on the stool and smiled up at her husband. "Nothing for you?"

Tony shook his head. "Not tonight, Sweet Cheeks. I went a little overboard on the champagne last night." He laced his fingers through her long curls. "Maybe later." As the bartender handed her the mojito, Ziva relished in the feeling of her partner standing behind her, and she smiled to herself as he leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

She didn't feel it. She just assumed he had. There was a strange, fuzzy feeling running through her body. Ziva couldn't quite remember how to describe the flavor of her drink. What was it? It started with an 's', she was pretty sure, but her tongue seemed detached from her brain.

"Tony, I am tired…"

He eyed her … but she couldn't decipher just _how_ he was looking at her. He looked nervous, but not. That word, the one that started with an 'A'; did an 'n' come next? There was an 'x' in there somewhere. What was the damn word?

Suddenly, she decided it was a very good thing she was sitting, because her knees felt numb. Not 'unfeeling' or 'weak', but odd-feeling, as though the moment she tried to put any weight on them, she might collapse. Her toes started to tingle, her stomach clenched, and the lights became uncomfortably bright. Was she having a migraine?

"Ziva, are you okay?" Tony stared down at her, eyes sparkling with a combination of fear and alertness. "Did you get into the wine again? Oh, Ziva." And there he was, playful again, reaching around her to prop her up against him. The bartender looked on in confusion as Tony paid him an extra five dollars to 'not say anything about this'. The other man covertly slipped the Abe Lincoln into his vest pocket and turned away while the NCIS agent led the 'drunk' woman out of the ballroom.

She wasn't responding, nor did she fully know what was going on, but she knew enough to keep her mouth shut until they got to the elevator. And then, word-vomit came out. "So tired drank more sex." Tony arched an eyebrow, an expression Ziva caught very clearly. "Shut up," she snapped, and tried pushing him away. "So hot…"

"You feel like an icicle," Tony murmured, pressing his hand to her forehead. "Are you—"

"Cold. So cold." Ziva shivered and stood against his chest. "Tony, what…happening?"

He stared down at her. "You've been roofied." Sweeping her up Wedding-Style, the Senior Field Agent carried her out of the elevator and to their suite, sliding the room-key through the lock effortlessly and walking through to set her on the bed. "Sleep. I'll be fine."

Ziva's chocolate gaze followed him dimly as he made his way around the suite, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, running a hand over his hair (effectively mussing it up), and finally unzipping his fly to relieve himself in the bathroom. She saw him visibly hesitate when faced with the option of whether to close the door a bit or leave it open, and finally decided to just go while he had the chance to.

Sooner or later, someone was going to show up and attack them, and he wanted to be ready for it. Although, Ziva decided hazily, the possibility of being sprayed with a stranger's urine deemed a plausible reason for him to not enter the room, or hurt anyone. He would simply be too shocked. _Why have I not thought of that one?_ she thought, lifting a heavy hand to rest on her abdomen.

Tony washed his hands and returned to her bedside, pulling up a chair to sit on while he gently raked his fingertips through her locks. "You look like hell," he joked, softly placing his hand against her cheek. "You're safe, though. And you'll stay safe. As long as you're with me. Okay?" Ziva nodded weakly and opened her mouth to say something before her eyelids drifted shut and she passed out completely.

He sat there watching her for what seemed like only a few minutes, taken by surprise when a loud crash behind him signaled the door being broken in. Tony was on his feet in moments, gun in hand, face to face with a young man holding a gun similarly.

"I'd drop it, son," the agent said, keeping his voice low but firm. "Lower your weapon, _please_."

"I have a job to do." The other man looked past him at Ziva. "Knocked her out faster than the other two."

"What's your name, kid?" Tony stayed put, eyeing the younger man with analytical eyes.

He didn't blink. "Marty."

"What are you doing here?"

"I think that's obvious." Marty's finger twitched over the trigger, but Tony held his ground. He had to stay alive long enough to protect Ziva.

"Well, Marty, I have a problem with that…" The newlywed murmured. "I'm kind of on my honeymoon, and you're cramping my style." _That's right, Tony; use your sense of humor. Gets `em every time_. The kid shrugged. "Who sent you?"

Marty grimaced and blinked beads of sweat away from his eyes. "Are you talking to me?"

"No, Travis. I'm talking to my partner, who just so happens to be passed out on my bed," Tony said, heavy sarcasm dripping off his voice. "Well I'm the only one here. Who the _hell_—" He censored the quote, feeling uneasy about swearing in front of Ziva, even if she _was_ unconscious. "—do you think you're talking to? Oh yeah? Okay." Tony hadn't had a chance yet to use a _Taxi Driver_ quote; he internally applauded himself for his innovation.

Tony's quote had given McGee enough time to creep through the door, silent and unobserved, and tackle Marty to the ground. "Federal agent!" Tim shouted, handcuffing the younger man. "Now it's time for answers, Marty."

A snort rose in Tony's nostrils that he couldn't fight, and before long, he was cackling like a schoolboy. At his teammate's quizzical stare, the Special Agent said in broken syllables, "McGee finally has a McFriend!" Tim rolled his eyes as Tony then went on, "So, Marty, what are you doing here?" McGee dragged the man over to a chair at the table and sat him down on it.

"My job."

"Oh, so you're an assassin." The older man glanced at McGee. "Does that mean that you are…committing treason, as well?" Although Tony thought his words sounded robotic, Marty's eyes widened. "You know what they do to you in prison for that?"

The computer nerd piped up. "You don't _want_ to know. Otherwise, it'll scare you."

Tony nodded. "Oh, but what if he wants to mentally prepare himself for what he gets to face?"

"Yeah, that's true," McGee agreed. "You tell him. It's too awful for me to verbalize."

"Oh, your virgin lips, McGeekwad," Tony murmured, bending over to rest his hands on his knees and look Marty straight in the eyes. "Generally speaking, you're going to a men's prison. Lots of really sexy, four-hundred pound, scruffy, butch men in tank tops and those pretty orange uniform pants, watching you shower, pee, eat, sleep, and breathe." He smirked as Marty's face transformed into the ideal definition of 'horrified'. "In fact, maybe you'll miss your honey back home so much—if she doesn't dump you first for being a criminal—that you'll be having some quality time with your hand, and those winning men'll watch that, too. And then, of course, they'll think it's hot, and since they don't have a lady friend to do anything with…"

Marty's eyes flashed with fear. The sweat beads from before had doubled in size and his face went from red with embarrassment to white with terror. "No…"

"You can't expect men to not do anything when they've got perfectly fine men. They're not gay, you know. They're just…" Tony looked at his geeky partner for the word.

McGee's half smile gave him away. "Desperate."

"Yep. They're desperate. And you; you're fresh meat, Marty. They've probably already done the dirty—or at least taken it—from every other man in the prison." The Senior Field Agent grinned fiercely. "So, do you want to cough up the information now, or go to a free sex-bar for life?"

For twenty-something, Marty didn't know when to keep his mouth shut or when to talk. The moment Tony provided him with the opportunity to get out of a potentially degrading situation, his lips started flapping about where his boss was, who he was, and why he wanted Tony and Ziva dead (among the other murders he had been paid to commit). Tony knew that Gibbs wouldn't buy it, nor did he himself believe that Marty had killed anyone; after all, if the kid had been going to kill him and Ziva, he wouldn't have hesitated for that long. A paid killer gets in, does his job, and leaves—ideally without being seen or caught by anyone—instead of hanging around waiting for a way out.

When the suspect finished his explanation, he looked up at the agents nervously before glancing at Ziva. "I'm not actually going to prison, am I? That place…I…I can't go there, can I?"

"Don't be so gullible, McFly," Tony said with a grin, clapping Marty on the back. "Got the place fixed up nice-o, McFly."

The kid might not have been going to prison, necessarily, but his stay with NCIS was far from over. Tony's biggest, most pressing matter was getting Ziva to the hospital and in stable condition.

"Ambulance is on its way, Tony," McGee murmured, dragging Marty out the door. "I think it might be downstairs."

He didn't need to hear much more. Tony swooped over to the bed, carefully picked Ziva up, and cradled her in his arms as he made his way downstairs to meet the medic. When he got to the front doors, the EMT rushed up to him with a stretcher.

"What happened to her?"

"Rohypnol in her drink. She's been out for an hour." The EMT watched him warily. "I'm her _husband_." Tony waggled his ring finger, the gold band glinting off of the red, flashing lights. "It wasn't _me_. In fact, some guy just burst into our hotel room right with the intent to kill both of us." For good measure, he flashed his NCIS badge, in case the EMT didn't believe him. Luckily, he did, and lifted the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. Tony climbed in behind him, taking Ziva's chilled, dainty hand in his. "You'll be okay. Nothing's going to happen to you. You're safe." He pressed his lips to her palm, letting them linger.

He'd thought the assignment had gone to new heights, somewhere along the line. But this was different. Because if anything happened to Ziva…Tony wasn't sure he'd be able to live with himself.

But hadn't that always been the case?

* * *

_A/N: Just a little word to everyone; I've decided that any fan-pieces I write from here on out will be completely separate from the NCIS-verse that Bellisarius Productions has created for us. Mmk? So they will have **nothing** to do with episodes, unless otherwise stated. No EJ, no Ray, no anyone new. The last episode that I agree with wholeheartedly is the two part **Enemies Foreign & Domestic** special a few months back. That special, therefore, will most likely be the last episode referred to in any of my future fiction pieces. Thank you for your time. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! **::smiles::** Love, Kathryn_


	7. Shark in the Water

_A/N: When you finish reading this chapter, read the A/N at the bottom of the page. Thanks!_

_**Disclaimer:**__ You're ridiculous for thinking I own anything of NCIS. If I did, Tony and Ziva would be together by now. Actually, no, if I owned NCIS, I would have my own personal Tony. And McGee. And Gibbs, because he's a sexy old man. Okay, so, here we are. Just go read._

* * *

The buzzing was what woke Ziva up. The incessant buzzing of fluorescent lights. It was driving her up a wall, almost as annoying as the beeping that echoed next to her. _Buzzzz_. _Beep. Beep. Beep._ She could barely take it anymore. An eye popped open and she immediately regretted letting it do so. "Augh," she groaned, attempting to lift a hand to shield her eyes from the offending light.

"Zeev, you awake?" a husky whisper said from beside her. "Ziva?" All that came out of the woman's mouth was another low groan. She felt him take her hand, and squeezed his weakly. "Atta girl." Ziva felt Tony release her hand, heard him shuffle over to the far side of the room, and flip a switch. "There; that should be a little easier on your eyes."

Her eyes fluttered open, and as Tony had promised, it hurt far less than before. This brought a small smile to her face, but she was unable to hold it for long. Any movement hurt tremendously, and even her soft breathing was wearing on her. "Water?" Ziva managed to croak, wincing at the feeling of gravel being ground into her esophagus. Tony nodded and held a glass of water out to her, pointing its straw into her mouth. She took several long, deep sips before releasing the straw from between her lips. "Thank you." Her voice was less raspy now.

"You're welcome," Tony murmured. "Do you want to know who did this to you?" Ziva nodded. "A guy named Marty. I think I saw him at the bar, on your other side."

"Why?"

Tony hung his head, but looked up at her through his eyelashes. "He was paid to kill you. Well, us. He's in cahoots with some other guy. Abby and Ducky are going through everything from the other three murders, and are going to let us know when they've found anything."

Ziva took another long sip of water and decided that if she stared straight at the ceiling, she could talk for longer. "Do you think Kessler has anything to do with this?"

Her partner shrugged. "We don't have anything to prove he is, but we don't have anything to prove he isn't, either." Again, he held her hand. "When the doctors release you, we're going back to the hotel."

"But…Did we not catch the man?"

The Senior Field Agent shook his head. "We caught _one_ of the guys. These people work in packs. Chances are, there's another one out there who's going to be sent this time." He sighed. "Marty's failed them, so the head honcho is going to send another one to finish the job." Both of his hands swallowed Ziva's. "We need to get them, Zeev."

"I know," she told him blankly. "But what I can't get over is…" Ziva trailed off.

"What can't you get over?" Tony prompted.

She stared at him. "Why does this _always_ happen to _me_?" Offering a small smile, she let out a laugh. "I am always the one who gets drugged and winds up in the hospital with you by my side pretending to be my husband."

"Well, Ziva," he mumbled, "this time it isn't pretend."

Ziva didn't think she understood what he meant, but she thought she might, even though she refused to let the butterfly wings tickle the inside of her stomach.

* * *

"Ah-HAH!" Abby shouted triumphantly, pointing an accusing finger at Major Mass-Spec. "You defied me earlier, maggot, but you've fallen to my fast wit and clever mind," she declared. "You have given me the answer that I need, that Gibbs has wanted since the beginning of all of this. You cannot fight me anymore, soldier. You are _finished_. When Gibbs gets down here, boy, you are gonna—"

"What'm I gonna say to your machine, Abs?" Gibbs was suddenly behind her, quieter than ever before. "Does it have something for me?"

The forensic scientist whirled around. "Yes! Remember Howie, the guy from four-oh-two?" Fearless Leader Gibbs nodded. "Well, he left a little something that, with the help of Major Mass-Spec and AFIS, I've linked to the guy who might've been the guy who might've known a guy who—"

"Today, Abby?" the Silver Fox snapped, deploring her with his eyes to hurry up and tell him. "We don't have much time."

"I know, Gibbs! But this is really, really, _really_ important!" Abby stared at him excitedly. "Jeremiah Stone." Gibbs shook his head and shrugged to show he hadn't a clue who that was. "You know him, Gibbs. You met him a few months ago, when Tony and Ziva were in Israel!"

He arched an eyebrow. "You mean that puke who stole my coffee on the ship?"

"Yeah!" Abby blurted. "His DNA and fingerprints were on the clasps of _each_ of the three wives' necklaces." Gibbs' eyes narrowed dangerously. "That means he _knew_ each of the wives! And guess what?"

"What?" he snapped.

"He's _dead_!" The Goth danced happily around Gibbs, her clunky heels making loud, plodding noises against the cement floor. "The wicked Jeremiah is dead!"

The silver-haired man glared at her. "And this should make me happy…why?"

"Because he _isn't_ the one who's killing people, Gibbs!" Abby grinned.

"You called me down here to tell me that this Elijah Sto—"

"Jeremiah."

"—_Jeremiah_ Stone guy isn't _our_ guy?" Gibbs snapped. "I can't believe this." He turned to go but stopped when Abby gripped his elbow. "You have somethin' else for me?"

She nodded vehemently. "Yes! He wasn't the one killing, but I think he might have been killed by the one who was killing everyone else." Pausing, her eyebrows pulled together. "Did that make sense?"

"Yah," the fatherly man murmured, kissing Abby's forehead. "Good work, Abs." And with that, he whisked from the room.

* * *

Ziva knew she didn't understand. "Why do I need a translator? I can speak perfectly fine English, Doctor Scott…" The man dressed in a white lab-coat (much like Abby's) shook his head and left the room, returning a few moments later with a man who looked—as much as she hated to admit it—handsome, very Middle Eastern. He had dark hair and eyes with a deep tan. His nose, too, gave him away. Ziva looked at Tony for reinforcement but got nowhere when her partner just shrugged. Grudgingly, she acquiesced, and nodded as the translator began telling her about what had happened to her (as far as the rohypnol went).

He ended with, "_Ata alul lehargish menumnam. Ha__ch__lamâ me'hira_," before bowing his head and being dismissed by Doctor Scott.

"What does that mean, Ziva?" Tony whispered, leaning closer to her.

"He told me I may feel drowsy, and then wished me a quick recovery," she told him, and then frowned. "Fine. That is okay. Thank you for clarifying. Now that I know what the effects of rohypnol are in both English _and_ Hebrew, may I go enjoy the rest of my honeymoon?" Her partner chuckled and took her hand. "I did not get married just so that I could lie in a hospital bed for a week."

Doctor Scott smiled kindly. "Yes, ma'am. We believe you can go home right after you sign the release forms." Softly, he murmured, "Look, Ziva, I don't know what you two got into, but you should probably be really careful from now on. Drugs aren't things to be taken lightly." He sent a meaningful glance toward Tony, who eyed him just as analytically.

"Excuse me?" the former-Israeli asked. "What exactly are you insinuating?"

He grimaced. "I don't want to make snap judgments about your relationship, but I think communication is a better alternative to drugs when it comes to doing things together as a couple."

Tony snorted and told him, "You realize that she was drugged by someone at the _bar_, right? This has nothing to do with what goes on in the bedroom."

"I'd really like to talk to Ziva alone, if you don't mind," the doctor insisted. "I really want to hear her side of it." Blinking several times, the Senior Field Agent nodded and stood, walking out the door of the hospital room. Ziva assumed he would be calling Gibbs. "Okay, Ziva. Please tell me what happened at the bar."

"My _husband_ and I purchased a Honeymoon Package with the hotel that gave us vouchers for an open bar all night," Ziva explained huffily. "We therefore went to utilize them. I ordered a mint mojito, and he didn't order anything. Soon after drinking about half of my beverage, I began feeling very strange." She resented the fact the doctor thought Tony had done this to her. How dare he even suggest it?

Doctor Scott shrugged. "Why didn't he drink?"

"Tony said that he had consumed a lot of champagne the previous night and did not think it would be practical for him to have any more alcohol." Ziva was growing frustrated and felt her cheeks flush angrily. "He loves me. He would not drug me."

She wanted him to shut up and let her leave, but he stared at her compassionately, thereby grating on her nerves even more. "Mrs. DiNozzo, I know that you love your husband very much, but if he did something—"

"_No_!" Ziva shouted, sitting up in her bed and standing up straight, very close to Doctor Scott, even though she felt the room shift around her. "Anthony Daniel DiNozzo has been nothing but good to me since the moment I started working at NCIS. We are _married_, Doctor. We are on our _honeymoon_; is that not a time of sexual experimentation between the newlywed couple?" Under her breath, she muttered, "Not that you would know, being nearly fifty and not yet married successfully." He blushed a deep red and hid his left hand. Apparently, he had not expected her to bite into him about his not wearing a wedding band. "Then why would I want to skip out on it? Why would he want me to be unconscious for it?"

The doctor mumbled something, but she cut him off. "I. Am. Not. _Finished._" He quieted, and Ziva continued, "If he wanted to make love to me, he could have simply said so, without giving me a roadie!"

Chuckling and straightening his lab-coat, Doctor Scott gently corrected, "It's 'roofie', Mrs. DiNozzo."

"Whatever!" she hissed. "That does not matter. What matters is that I am going to put my clothes on, and I am going to sign the release form, and my _husband_—who loves me very, very much and would _never _drug me—is going to take me back to the hotel." As an afterthought, Ziva murmured, "And, perhaps, we will have wild sex all night long!"

She had not heard Tony creep into the room, but when he dropped his empty can of ginger ale on the linoleum floors, her head snapped to face his. There was a faint smirk gracing his lips and his eyes held a sparkle that Ziva had seen very few other times.

"But the Doc said to keep you all nice and rested up, Zeev!" he said with a smile, crossing the room and wrapping an arm around her back. This effectively calmed Ziva's anger and held the back of her hospital gown closed, so she wasn't flashing everyone else. Tony bowed close and pressed his lips to her ear, whispering, "We'll see."

Ziva couldn't suppress the butterflies in her stomach this time, or the shiver that went up her spine. And the blush that touched her cheeks was seen by both Tony and the doctor.

* * *

Guest Services allowed Gibbs and McGee to move all of Tony and Ziva's things to a new room, on a different floor, and all of the cameras, microphones and bugs that had been in two-oh-one were transported, as well. McGee rented the room a few doors down and would watch the room in shifts with Gibbs, while Abby and Director Vance worked their magic at headquarters. Everything seemed to be in order. The two partners, however, found several things to argue about.

"I feel _fine_, and we still have vouchers for dinner!" Ziva told Tony, but was faced with his stubborn face.

"Ziva, no, Doctor Scott told you to stay in bed," Tony retorted. "You were roofied, alright? That's not exactly something you can bounce back from, the amount of rohypnol you were given."

She stood on her tiptoes and stared into his eyes. "Anthony DiNozzo, you are going to let me eat dinner. I do not care if I have to buy a frozen dinner from the shop downstairs; I am famished, and I am going to eat." Ziva searched his eyes before patting his cheek and walking down the hall (barefoot, as her heels made the room spin) to the door of their suite.

"Sweetheart," Tony called after her, rushing forward to balance her with his hands on her hips as she tottered. "How about we call in room service?" He swung her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest for the second time that night, and she slung an arm across his shoulders. "I hear Hotel Jerome has the best fondue in the tri-state area." The middle-aged man buried his face in Ziva's neck, nibbling at a batch of skin that smelled particularly succulent.

The former-Israeli nodded a bit, but most of her body still felt a bit fuzzy, or detached from her head. All she could find the energy to say at this moment was "Baby."

"What?" Tony asked. There was a long pause and he set her on the bed, taking a seat beside her as she pulled her knees up to her chest. He refused to recognize the fact her skirt was revealing her underwear. "Zeev?"

"What happens if, after this, I discover that we are …" When she said the word 'pregnant', it was barely audible. Ziva didn't trust herself to say much more; _couldn't_ trust herself.

There was another lengthy silence before Tony finally said, "We would deal with it the way we're supposed to, and after that, whatever happens, happens." He drew her close, letting her press her ear against his chest to hear his heartbeat. _Thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud. _

"Are we…" Her trailing off could have only meant one thing: Were they destroying the marriage license and going back to normal?

He considered this for a moment before kissing the crown of her head. "I don't know," he told her honestly. "I was hoping we could figure that out when …" _When Gibbs gave them their options._ "…When we had to." She nodded against him and he felt his heart break. "How about we focus on getting some food in that tummy of yours, huh?" Tony didn't know why he felt so inclined to using pet names and baby talk with her, but there was a rising sense of tenderness within him that he had to acknowledge.

"Yes." Ziva yawned, and then placed her lips on his suprasternal notch. She had just recently learned the medical name, from Ducky, and liked the way it rolled off her tongue. Ever since she was a young girl, she had always wondered what the name for that sexy dip at the base of a man's throat was called, and now she knew. "Chocolate and cheese fondue?" Tony nodded, his eyes partly closed, though looking at her. "I will go shower, and you can call it in."

He squeezed her hand as she got up to go to the bathroom, calling room service after he heard the water running.

As Ziva stepped into the glass-encased shower stall, letting the hot water tumble down her skin and douse her hair. It was refreshing, and warm, and safe. Although Tony would most likely make some sort of reference to _Psycho_, she was more than comfortable just enjoying the feel of standing in steam and suds and tile, especially because of her new vanilla shampoo and body wash.

Ziva knew that Tony liked the smell of cookies, as he loved food, and she assumed he would likewise like the smell of vanilla. Or at least, she hoped, so that he might hold her again. The nights she lay cuddled in his arms, under all the blankets, were her favorites. It was something about the feeling of his chest rising and falling against hers, his warm breath in her hair, and the strength of his arms holding her close that, as a woman who had less than a successful romantic past, Ziva could not get enough of.

"Hey, Zeev?" Tony's low voice said, his head poked through the door (although his eyes were closed). "Room service just brought up the fondue…You almost done?"

"What time is it?"

"Nearly midnight…" he answered, checking his watch. "You've been in here for nearly an hour."

Wrapping a towel around her body, Ziva stepped out of the shower and walked on tiptoe over to the hook that held her bathrobe. "Yes; I think I was caught up in my daydreams or something," she murmured. "Sorry."

"It's fine. Come eat." He led her to the bed, pulling the cart behind him. And there they sat until Ziva fell asleep as the sun began to paint the sky red and purple, beginning another day.

* * *

_A/N: It was another short one, I know, but … I feel like that's okay, you know? Let me explain; I have four hundred pages of film notes, five film review responses, five reaction-to-film essays, and a four-page paper to write by next Thursday. I have done ten pages of those notes. My film class would be ten times easier if I had my own personal Tony. Please, someone, get on that. Maybe an app for my dorky Alias, because I'm not cool enough to have an iPhone or BlackBerry. Anyway, that's why I haven't been able to do much. I also have a short story to write for Children's Lit. Therefore…I just…need some time for me. I've been having this issue lately, where I feel really heavy pressure on my 'sternum'; I'm not sure if that's what it's called, but I feel really tired all the time and my 'heart' hurts. Yaknow, like, when you say the Pledge of Allegiance and cover your heart with your hand, and all of that? That's where it hurts. I'm very strung out lately. I don't think you'll be getting another chapter for awhile, I'm afraid, or at least until I get everything done that I need to get done. I promise you, you'll survive this hiatus. **::smiles::** So. Here I am, signing out. Love muchly, Kathryn._

_PS: If anyone knows where I can get a copy of Faulkner's As I Lay Dying, it would be mucho appreciated. I know what you're going to say; "You want the book Ziva quoted in "One Last Score"!" No. Actually, I did a paper on As I Lay Dying three years ago; I knew the quote "My mother is a fish" long before it was on the show. I was super psyched that she discussed Faulkner with Tony, though, on television. Woot! All I'm saying is that … technically, she likes my favorite book. I don't like hers. Haha. Aaaaaanyway, just let me know! I tried Amazon but I don't like their check-out system. Long story. I just really, really want that book! **::grins::** Thanks!_


	8. Half of My Heart

_A/N: I am so incredibly sorry for the horrible delay…I don't know what happened there. Actually, I do. I had about seven papers due on the same day, and a several-thousand pages of film notes to take. So, since I'm now a graduate of my A.A. degree program…onward and upward to a big, fantastic, dream school and the eighth chapter of Rubies of the Mountain, yes?_

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own the fantastic finale. Remember, also, that my stories stopped following canon with Enemies Foreign/Domestic. **::smiles::**_

_**PS: **I've gone through some rough stuff lately (ie: surprising, shocking, and devastating breakup) and therefore am feeling really overwhelmed/intimidated/upset/uber-sensitive/depressed so…Take it easy on me, yeah? Thankies!_

* * *

She would have liked nothing more than to just stay sleeping on the pillowy cloud that surrounded her body, or to nestle further into the center of the sturdy boulder she was propped up against. But she couldn't, because the blaring television was enough to wake even Gibbs, who never slept nor could be categorized as a "light sleeper". "Hey," she grumbled, patting her partner's leg clumsily. "Turn it off, Tony."

"Oh, sorry, Princess Davíd," Tony muttered, hitting the mute button. "It's not my fault you insisted on staying up until five in the morning." He munched on something, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Besides, you almost missed breakfast, so you should be happy I woke you up."

Ziva sniffed the air. "Is that…toast?" Her senses immediately perked up and she felt around the bed blindly as she searched for the plate. (Little did she know Tony kept moving the plate, finally resting it on his lap.) Her hand drifted up his leg and finally to his left hip.

"Whoa, now!" Tony yelped, jumping. Ziva's eyes popped open and saw that her hand rested not only in his lap, but over a rather sensitive part of his anatomy. Several milliseconds later, it wasn't.

Leaping away from him, she blushed furiously and wailed, "I am _so_ sorry!" Her partner stared at her in confusion. "I…you…_that_," she mumbled, gesturing toward his pants.

He chuckled. "Yes, Ziva, I do have a dick," Tony murmured, stuffing a piece of toast in his mouth as if he had merely been commenting on the weather. His 'wife' watched his every move. "But," he added, "since we're married and all, you _are_ allowed to touch it." While he was chewing, he somehow managed to grin at her cheekily.

Ziva frowned. "What are you talking about?" she asked him before standing and walking over to the bureau and feigning picking out her clothes.

The Senior Field Agent arched a brow. "What, you've never given a hand-job before?" There was a pause, during which Ziva refused to turn around, before he added, "You'd think it would be a great way to get answers…"

"I feel faint. Can we change the topic?" She tucked a curl behind her ear and headed for the bathroom.

Tony hopped off the bed and made it to the bathroom door before she did, bracing a hand on either side of the doorframe. "Ziva, no, that came out wrong…" When Ziva didn't answer, but kept her gaze firmly set on the floor, he gently touched her chin to force her to look at him. "Hey, I'm sorry…"

"It is fine." She tried to push past him but failed. "Tony, come on."

"No, Ziva." Tony's hand slipped up to cup the woman's face. "What did I say?" And just like that, he knew he'd made a big mistake even bringing it up. Tears welled up in her eyes and she shook her head. "Zeev? Hey, talk to me…" When his partner still said nothing to him, he pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her and planting a kiss on the crown of her head. He let her cry. What else was he supposed to do?

Finally, Ziva felt ready to talk and sunk down to sit on the floor against the wall. "I have had to do many horrible things," she began slowly, bringing all of her hair over her left shoulder so Tony could see her face. "They have all been in an attempt to protect my country, protect my homeland…protect the _Promised_ Land…" Tony said nothing, just watched her, but laced his fingers with hers. "Tony, you don't understand how things are where I am from. If your Director tells you to sleep with someone or seduce someone to get answers, you do it."

"I think I get that." His eyes lowered, a montage of several moments with the beautiful Doctor Jeanne Benoit that he'd experienced a few years ago flashing across his mind's eye. "Yeah, I definitely understand that."

"You simply _dated_ her, Tony. Sex for us…was like a torture tactic, almost." Tony stared at her. "When we knew that getting answers from someone would be difficult, we would resort to other means of getting them." Pausing, Ziva sighed. "For example, if I were interrogating—say—_you_, and you were not answering my questions truthfully, I would perhaps brush over your hand, like this." She ran her fingertips over the back of his hand and then removed them just as quickly.

Her partner chuckled. "And if that didn't work?"

"I would lean over the table and give you a glimpse of my chest." Ziva brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, curling herself into a ball. "If you still did not cooperate, I would start the teasing. It would begin as instilling a false hope in you that I would sleep with you." Resting her head on her knees, she continued with her voice muffled, "I have given hand-jobs in the past, Tony, on some of the greatest examples of 'scum of the earth' one could possibly find."

Tony didn't know what to say, and Ziva could tell from the awkward silence between them. It seemed to pulsate, an energy that could be neither harnessed nor released, and both knew that it wouldn't dissipate anytime soon.

Finally, he took a breath and said, "Ziva, I didn't mean I _expect_ you to want to touch me, okay? Technically, we still don't know where this is going. As much as…as much as I love you, I don't want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable." His rambling apology fell on deaf ears, except for the part about him loving her. "Zeev?"

"You love me?" she asked quietly, peeking through her bent elbow at him.

For having been a police officer who always knew how to play the field, he had certainly made it apparent that he was unable to keep his mouth shut about his real feelings. And even when he did, he often admitted them, regardless of whether it was verbal or simply through body language. Tony nodded and saw that Ziva's visible eye was twinkling. "What're you looking at?" he inquired teasingly.

"I am looking at my husband," Ziva responded, still looking at him with one eye. She wanted to continue on and say, "And thinking about how lucky I am to be married to him," but vowed to never say that. Not until she knew for sure that the marriage wouldn't end with the assignment. "Can I go shower now?"

"Yeah, sure." Tony made his way to his feet and helped Ziva to hers. "Actually, one last thing." Ziva groaned with dread. "Don't feel obligated to answer, but…" A blush rose in his cheeks. "Have you ever, ya'know…" He stuck his tongue in his cheek, pressing outward, and felt like an ass when he saw his partner's eyes widen in shock. "Never mind, it was a stupid question anyways…"

Ziva started for the bathroom, but stopped and looked up at him. "No. I have not." With that, she placed a swift kiss on his lips and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her, but not locking it.

Because she trusted him enough not to try anything.

* * *

"Zeev, do you want to do something fun today?" Tony had just gotten off of the phone with Gibbs, who had informed him that the tox-screens had come through for the three couples and therefore they were expected to leave the room. In other words, they had to act like they were married and get out of bed for once.

Ziva stared at him skeptically, not knowing the contents of the phone call. "Tony, we've had sex enough, don't you think?"

He let out a bark of laughter and dipped his face close to hers. Tony murmured, "No such thing, Ziva DiNozzo," and his lips brushed hers as soft as his whisper.

"…I thought you wanted to go out, not stay in…" Ziva murmured, watching him fling himself onto the unmade bed and turn on the television. "What is _that_?" As a large, craze-looking Caucasian male hurled himself at the camera, Ziva jumped.

"_Cops_," her partner said simply with a smile. "Fantastic show. This guy is Jeff, and he is a corporate lawyer from Canada who cheated a hundred clients out of over six million dollars." Popping a marshmallow into his mouth, he grimaced; it was from the night before, and it was no longer a white, fluffy pillow, but a hardened cylinder that scraped his gums.

"How do you know?" She smirked, crossing her arms and appraising her husband/partner. "I take it you have seen this episode before?"

Tony nodded, running his tongue across his lips in an attempt to soothe the pain. "Damn, that hurt…" Wincing, he sipped coffee from the mug that rested on the bedside table. "Damn homemade marshmallows, anyway."

"Aw, did Tony huwt his mowf?" Ziva said in baby-talk, perching on the edge of the bed. "Poor baby…" He frowned at her, offended, and turned away. The only reason he turned back toward her was that Ziva's arm snaked around his waist and drew him closer. "Want some ice?"

He shook his head. "No." The former-Israeli pursed her lips in confusion. "Zeev, you're _supposed_ to kiss it better. It's your job as my wife." Ziva stuck her tongue out and pushed him away, unhappy with the turn of events. Standing, she began walking away from him, but he jumped up and followed. "Look, it's day four, alright? We're newlyweds. We…we love each other."

"Yes, we do."

"We do?"

Ziva's eyes snapped to his. "Of course we do…Don't we?" Worry, mixed with hurt, poured from her chocolate irises. Tony took her in his arms.

"Of course we do. I told you that earlier, remember?" Pressing his lips into the crown of her head, he let out a chuckle. "I'm not going to just leave you, Ziva. What I said in my vows still holds true, okay?" She backed away, her brows pulled together.

"What part?"

Tony smiled at her. "Well, there were a few." Drawing a deep breath, he thought back to the ceremony. "The first that comes to mind is the one where I said if I had to search the desert to get to you, I would." Ziva averted her eyes. "I also was thinking about when I said that you're one of the few people who really gets the 'big kid' part of me…" She laughed. "Oh, and then the part where I said I'd move to Israel if that's what it took to be with you."

The Israeli smiled at him. "Hmm…"

"'Hmm'?" he asked. "What's 'hmm'?"

Backing him toward the bed, Ziva's eyes sparkled. "I think you just bought yourself another forty-five minutes of honeymoon, Anthony DiNozzo."

* * *

"They're rollin' in the hay again, Al," Howie groaned. "Seriously, it's makin' me wowna go home `n' find mahself a nahce lady frand."

Al snorted. "In other words, you're a horny freak who can't remember what his real job is." His Southern employee typed madly on his keyboard as the older mobster observed from behind. "Find anything else?"

"Other than that the woman is damn flexible? No." Al watched as the camera panned the room. "Oh, and that they love each other and all that lovey-dovey stuff…We can't break 'em up, boss. They don't just have the hots for each other, man. They're in it for the long-run."

There was a long pause before Al sighed. "Well, what do you have on the team? There's gotta be some sort of dirty laundry…"

"I'll see what I can find, but I'm not making any promises," Howie murmured. "They caught a kid yesterday who was out to get them. I guess we're not the only ones watching them…"

The older man stiffened. "Who wants 'em dead?" Their entire operation would be ruined if either of the two died, and he knew they had to tread very carefully. Anyone who wanted Ziva Davíd or Tony DiNozzo dead would have Howie Abbott and Alim Akbar somewhere on their list of who to kill next. He couldn't have that.

"I'll find out more about that too, boss."

_If only Howie knew my past,_ Al thought, walking away with a nod. He had been born on the Gaza Strip, sent to the States with his mother shortly after in search of "a better life". He grew up on Staten Island, and had tried to make everyone believe he was from the Old Italy. That's where the "gangster" appearance came from. But deep down, he was Israeli. And that meant he had an Aliyah. In Al's mind, that Aliyah was to protect Ziva at all costs.

He couldn't fail.


End file.
